University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

GIFT  OF 

The  Friends  of  The  Bancroft  Library 


IN   MR.  KNOX'S   COUNTRY 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHORS 

SOME  EXPERIENCES  OF  AN  IRISH 
R.M.  With  31  Illustrations  by  E.  CE.  Somp:r- 
VILLE.     Crown  8vo. 

FURTHER  EXPERIENCES  OF  AN 
IRISH  R.M.  With  35  Illustrations  by  E.  CE. 
SoMERViLLE.     Crown  8vo. 

SOME  IRISH  YESTERDAYS.  With  51 
Illustrations  by  E.  CE.  Somerville.  Crown 
8vo. 

*#*  In  this  volume  is  included  a  reprint  of '^*  Slipper's 
A  B  C  0/ Fox-hunting  "  with  numerous  illustrations. 

ALL  ON  THE  IRISH  SHORE:  Irish 
Sketches.  With  10  Illustrations  by  E.  CE. 
Somerville.    Crown  8vo. 

AN  IRISH  COUSIN.     Crown  8vo. 

THE  REAL  CHARLOTTE.     Crown  8vo. 

THE  SILVER  FOX.     Crown  8vo. 


By  E.  CE.  Somerville 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  DISCONTENTED 
LITTLE  ELEPHANT.  Told  in  Pictures  and 
Rhyme.  With  7  coloured,  and  many  other 
Illustrations.     Oblong  4to. 

LONGMANS,  GREEN  AND  CO. 

LONDON,  NEW  YORK,  BOMBAY,  CALCUTTA,  AND  MADRAS 


**  If  ever  you  see  hounds  pointing  this  way,  don't  spare  spurs 
to  get  to  the  cliff  before  them  1  " 

[Page  4.] 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 


By 
E.  (E.  Somerville  and  Martin  Ross 

Authors  of  <'Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  R.M.,"  ''Further 

Experiences  of  an  Irish  R.M.,"  '<  Some  Irish  Yesterdays," 

"All  on  the  Irish  Shore,"  "Dan  Russel  the  Fox," 

"The  Real  Charlotte,"  etc.  etc.  etc. 


With  8  Illustrations  by  E.  CE.  Somerville 


Longmans,    Green    and    Co. 

39    Paternoster    Row,   London 

Fourth  Avenue  &  30th  Street,  New  York 

Bombay,  Calcutta,  and  Madras 

I915 

All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS 


I.  THE  AUSSOLAS  MARTIN  CAT 
II.  THE  FINGER  OF  MRS.  KNOX 

III.  THE  FRIEND  OF  HER  YOUTH 

IV.  HARRINGTON'S 
V.  THE  MAROAN  PONY      . 

VI.  MAJOR  APOLLO  RIGGS  . 
VIL  WHEN  I  FIRST  MET  DR.  HICKEY 
VIIL  THE  BOSOM  OF  THE  McRORYS 
IX.  PUT  DOWN  ONE  AND  CARRY  TWO 
X.  THE  COMTE  DE  PRALINES . 
XL  THE  SPIGOTING  OF  SHINROE    . 


24 

50 

78 

106 

136 
171 
201 
225 

251 
284 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


*•*  If  ever  you   see  hounds  pointing  this  way^ 
don't  spare  spurs  to  get  to  the  cliff  before 

them  /  '* .         .         .         .         .         .         .  Frontispiece 

Kitty  the  Shakes Facing  p.       3 


"  /  heard  scald-crow  laughter  behind  me  in  the 
shawls" 

"Lyneys  a  tough  dogi"         .         .         .         . 

''Walkin' Aisy''    ...... 

James 

Miss  Cooney  CRattigan         .... 

Miss  Larkie  McRory 


49 
III 

139 
171 
214 
259 


vtt 


IN    MR.    KNOX'S  COUNTRY 

I 

THE    AUSSOLAS    MARTIN    CAT 

Flurry  Knox  and  I  had  driven  some  fourteen 
miles  to  a  tryst  with  one  David  Courtney,  of 
Fanaghy.  But,  at  the  appointed  cross-roads, 
David  Courtney  was  not.  It  was  a  gleaming 
morning  in  mid- May,  when  everything  was  young 
and  tense  and  thin  and  fit  to  run  for  its  life,  like 
a  Derby  horse.  Above  us  was  such  of  the  spa- 
cious bare  country  as  we  had  not  already  climbed, 
with  nothing  on  it  taller  than  a  thorn-bush  from 
one  end  of  it  to  the  other.  The  hill-top  blazed 
with  yellow  furze,  and  great  silver  balls  of  cloud 
looked  over  its  edge.  Nearly  as  white  were  the 
little  white-washed  houses  that  were  tucked  in 
and  out  of  the  grey  rocks  on  the  hill-side. 

"  It's  up  there  somewhere  he  lives,"  said  Flurry^ 
turning  his  cart  across  the  road  ;  "  which'll  you 
do,  hold  the  horse  or  go  look  for  him  ?  " 

I  said  I  would  go  to  look  for  him.     I  mounted 

A 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

the  hill  by  a  wandering  bohireen  resembling 
nothing  so  much  as  a  series  of  bony  elbows ;  a 
white-washed  cottage  presently  confronted  me, 
clinging,  like  a  sea-anemone,  to  a  rock.  I  knocked 
at  the  closed  door,  I  tapped  at  a  window  held  up 
by  a  great,  speckled  foreign  shell,  but  without 
success.  Climbing  another  elbow,  I  repeated  the 
process  at  two  successive  houses,  but  without 
avail.  All  was  as  deserted  as  Pompeii,  and, 
as  at  Pompeii,  the  live  rock  in  the  road  was 
worn  smooth  by  feet  and  scarred  with  wheel 
tracks. 

An  open  doorway  faced  me ;  I  stooped  beneath 
its  lintel  and  asked  of  seeming  vacancy  if  there 
were  "anyone  inside."  There  was  no  reply.  I 
advanced  into  a  clean  kitchen,  with  a  well-swept 
earthen  floor,  and  was  suddenly  aware  of  a  human 
presence  very  close  to  me. 

A  youngish  woman,  with  a  heavy  mop  of  dark 
hair,  and  brown  eyes  staring  at  the  opposite  wall, 
was  sitting  at  the  end  of  a  settle  behind  the  door. 
Every  bit  of  her  was  trembling.  She  looked  past 
me  as  if  I  did  not  exist.  Feeling  uncertain  as  to 
whether  she  or  I  were  mad,  I  put  to  her  my 
question  as  to  where  David  Courtney  lived,  with- 
out much  expectation  of  receiving  an  answer. 

Still  shaking  from  head  to  foot,  and  without 
turning  her  eyes,  she  replied : 


Kitty  the  Shakes. 


The  Aussolas  Martin  Cat 

**  A  small  piece  to  the  north.  The  house  on 
the  bare  rock." 

The  situation  showed  no  symptom  of  expansion; 
I  faltered  thanks  to  her  profile  and  returned  to 
Flurry. 

The  house  of  David  Courtney  produced  David 
Courtney's  large  and  handsome  wife,  who  told  us 
that  Himself  was  gone  to  a  funeral,  and  all  that 
was  in  the  village  was  gone  to  it,  but  there  was 
a  couple  of  the  boys  below  in  the  bog. 

**  What  have  they  done  with  those  cubs  ? " 
asked  Flurry. 

Mrs.  Courtney  shot  at  him  a  dark-blue  side- 
glance,  indulgent  and  amused,  and,  advancing  to 
the  edge  of  her  rock  terrace,  made  a  trumpet  of 
her  hands  and  projected  a  long  call  down  the 
valley. 

"  Mikeen !  Con  !     Come  hither ! " 

From  a  brown  patch  in  the  green  below  came 
a  far-away  response,  and  we  presently  saw  two 
tall  lads  coming  towards  us,  running  up  the  hill 
as  smoothly  and  easily  as  a  couple  of  hounds. 
Their  legs  were  bare  and  stained  with  bog-mould, 
they  were  young  and  light  and  radiant  as  the 
May  weather. 

I  did  not  withhold  my  opinion  of  them  from 
their  proprietor. 

"  Why,   then,    I    have   six    more   as  good   as 

3 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

them ! "  replied  Mrs.  Courtney,  her  hands  on 
her  hips. 

We  took  the  horse  from  the  shafts  and  pushed 
him,  deeply  suspicious,  into  a  darksome  lair,  in  one 
corner  of  which  glimmered  a  pale  object,  either 
pig  or  calf.  When  this  was  done  we  followed 
Mikeen  and  Con  up  through  blossoming  furze 
and  blue-grey  rock  to  the  ridge  of  the  hill,  and 
there  came  face  to  face  with  the  vast  blue  dazzle 
of  the  Atlantic,  with  a  long  line  of  cliffs  standing 
it  off,  in  snowy  lather,  as  far  as  eye  could  follow 
them  into  the  easterly  haze. 

**  That's  the  cliff  over-right  you  now,"  said  one 
of  the  boys,  pointing  downwards,  with  a  hand 
dark  with  bog-stuff,  to  a  grey  and  green  wedge 
thrust  out  into  the  blue.  **  It's  there  where  she 
have  her  den.  She  have  a  pat'  down  for  herself 
in  it — it's  hardly  a  bird  could  walk  it — the  five 
pups  was  following  her,  and  two  o*  them  rolled 
down  into  the  strand,  and  our  dogs  held  them. 
Ourselves  was  below  in  the  cove  gathering 
seaweed." 

**  Make  a  note  of  it  now.  Major,"  said  Flurry, 
"  and  if  ever  you  see  hounds  pointing  this  way, 
don't  spare  spurs  to  get  to  the  cliff  before  them  !  '* 

"  Why  don't  you  get  them  out  and  blow  up  the 
place?" 

"  Is  it  get  them  out  of  that  hole ! "  said  one  of 

4 


The  Aussolas  Martin  Cat 

the  boys.     **  If  all  the  foxes  in  Europe  was  inside 
in  it  you  couldn't  get  them  out ! " 

**  We  mightn't  want  them  either,"  said  Flurry, 
his  eye  ranging  the  face  of  the  cliff,  and  assimi- 
lating its  uncompromising  negations. 

"Then  there's  plenty  that  would!"  returned 
Mikeen,  looking  at  us  with  an  eye  as  blue  and 
bright  as  the  sea.  "  There  was  a  man  east  here 
that  cot  a  fox  and  her  five  young  ones  in  the  one 
night,  and  he  got  three  half-crowns  for  every  lad 
o'them!" 

**  He'd  be  turned  out  of  hell  for  doing  that," 
said  Flurry,  very  severely. 

We  went  back  to  the  cottage  on  the  rock,  and 
the  matter  entered  upon  its  more  serious  phase. 
I  took  no  part  in  the  negotiations,  and  employed 
myself  in  converse  with  Mrs.  Courtney,  who — it 
may  not  be  out  of  place  to  recall — informed  me, 
amongst  other  domestic  details,  that  the  farm 
wouldn't  carry  all  the  children  she  had,  and  that 
nowadays,  when  the  ger'rls  would  be  going  to 
America,  it's  white  nightdresses  and  flannelette 
nightdresses  she  should  give  them ;  and  further, 
that  she  thought,  if  she  lived  to  be  as  old  as  a 
goat,  she'd  never  see  them  so  tasty. 

On  the  way  home  I  asked  Flurry  what  he  was 
going  to  do  with  the  two  cubs,  now  immured  in  a 
market  basket  under  the  seat  of  the  dog-cart. 

5 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

Flurry  was  ambiguous  and  impenetrable  ;  there 
were  certain  matters  in  which  Flurry  trusted 
nobody,  knowing  the  darkness  of  his  own  heart 
and  the  inelasticity  of  other  people's  points  of 
view. 

**  That  woman,  you  know,  that  told  you  the 
way,"  he  remarked,  with  palpable  irrelevance, 
**  *  Kitty  the  Shakes,'  they  call  her — they  say  she 
mightn't  speak  to  anyone  once  in  three  months, 
and  she  shakes  that  way  then.  It's  a  pity  that 
was  the  house  you  went  into  first." 

*' Why  so?"  said  I. 

*•  That's  the  why !  "  said  Flurry. 

It  was  during  the  week  following  this  expedi- 
tion that  Philippa  and  I  stayed  for  a  few  days  at 
Aussolas,  where  Flurry  and  Mrs.  Flurry  were  now 
more  or  less  permanently  in  residence.  The  posi- 
tion of  guest  in  old  Mrs.  Knox's  house  was  one 
often  fraught  with  more  than  the  normal  anxie- 
ties proper  to  guests.  Her  mood  was  like  the 
weather,  a  matter  incalculable  and  beyond  con- 
trol ;  it  governed  the  day,  and  was  the  leit 
motif  in  the  affairs  of  the  household.  I  hope 
that  it  may  be  given  to  me  to  live  until  my 
mood  also  is  as  a  dark  tower  full  of  armed 
men. 

On  the  evening  of  our  arrival  my  wife,  whose 

6 


T!he  Aussolas  Martin  Cat 

perception  of  danger  is  comparable  only  to  that 
of  the  wild  elephant,  warned  me  that  Mrs.  Knox 
was  rheumatic,  and  that  I  was  on  no  account 
to  condole  with  her.  Later  on  the  position  re- 
vealed itself.  Mrs.  Knox's  Dublin  doctor  had 
ordered  her  to  Buxton  with  as  little  delay  as 
possible ;  furthermore,  she  was  to  proceed  to 
Brighton  for  the  summer,  possibly  for  the  winter 
also.  She  had  put  Aussolas  on  a  house  agent's 
books,  **  out  of  spite,"  Flurry  said  sourly ;  "  I 
suppose  she  thinks  I'd  pop  the  silver,  or  sell  the 
feather  beds." 

It  was  a  tribute  to  Mrs.  Knox's  character  that 
her  grandson  treated  her  as  a  combatant  in  his 
own  class,  and  did  not  for  an  instant  consider 
himself  bound  to  allow  her  weight  for  either 
age  or  sex. 

At  dinner  that  night  Mrs.  Knox  was  as  favour- 
able to  me  as  usual  ;  yet  it  was  pointed  out  to 
me  by  Mrs.  Flurry  that  she  was  wearing  two 
shawls  instead  of  one,  always  an  indication  to 
be  noted  as  a  portent  of  storm.  At  bridge  she 
played  a  very  sharp-edged  game,  in  grimness 
scarcely  mitigated  by  two  well-brought-off  revokes 
on  the  part  of  Philippa,  who  was  playing  with 
Flurry  ;  a  gross  and  unprincipled  piece  of  chivalry 
on  my  wife's  part  that  was  justly  resented  by 
Mr.  Knox. 

7 


In  Mr,  Knoxs  Country 

Next  morning  the  lady  of  the  house  was 
invisible,  and  Mullins,  her  maid,  was  heard  to 
lament  to  an  unknown  sympathiser  on  the  back 
stairs  that  the  divil  in  the  wild  woods  wouldn't 
content  her. 

In  the  grove  at  Aussolas,  on  a  height  behind 
the  castle,  romantically  named  Mount  Ida,  there 
is  a  half-circle  of  laurels  that  screens,  with  pleas- 
ing severity,  an  ancient  bench  and  table  of  stone. 
The  spot  commands  a  fair  and  far  prospect  of 
Aussolas  Lake,  and,  nearer  at  hand,  it  permitted 
a  useful  outlook  upon  the  kitchen  garden  and  its 
affairs.  When  old  Mrs.  Knox  first  led  me  thither 
to  admire  the  view,  she  mentioned  that  it  was  a 
place  to  which  she  often  repaired  when  the  cook 
was  on  her  trail  with  enquiries  as  to  what  the 
servants  were  to  have  for  dinner. 

Since  our  expedition  to  Fanaghy  the  glory  of 
the  weather  had  remained  unshaken,  and  each 
day  there  was  a  shade  of  added  warmth  in  the 
sunshine  and  a  more  caressing  quality  in  the 
wind.  Flurry  and  I  went  to  Petty  Sessions  in 
the  morning,  and  returned  to  find  that  Mrs.  Knox 
was  still  in  her  room,  and  that  our  respective 
wives  were  awaiting  us  with  a  tea-basket  in  the 
classic  shades  of  Mount  Ida.  Mrs.  Knox  had 
that  mysterious  quality  of  attraction  given  to 
some  persons,  and  some  dogs,  of  forming  a  social 


The  Jussolas  Martin  Cat 

vortex  into  which  lesser  beings  inevitably  swim ; 
yet  I  cannot  deny  that  her  absence  induced  a 
sneaking  sensation  of  holiday.  Had  she  been 
there,  for  example,  Mrs.  Flurry  would  scarcely 
have  indicated,  with  a  free  gesture,  the  luxuriance 
of  the  asparagus  beds  in  the  kitchen  garden  below, 
nor  promised  to  have  a  bundle  of  it  cut  for  us 
before  we  went  home;  still  less  would  she  and 
Philippa  have  smoked  cigarettes,  a  practice  con- 
sidered by  Mrs.  Knox  to  be,  in  women,  several 
degrees  worse  than  drinking. 

To  us  there.,  through  the  green  light  of  young 
beech  leaves  and  the  upstriking  azure  glare  of 
myriads  of  bluebells,  came  the  solid  presence  of 
John  Kane.  It  would  be  hard  to  define  John 
Kane's  exact  status  at  Aussolas  ;  Flurry  had  once 
said  that,  whether  it  was  the  house,  or  the  garden, 
or  the  stables,  whatever  it'd  be  that  you  wanted 
to  do,  John  Kane'd  be  in  it  before  you  to  hinder 
you ;  but  that  had  been  in  a  moment  of  excus- 
able irritation,  when  John  Kane  had  put  a  padlock 
on  the  oat  loft,  and  had  given  the  key  to  Mrs. 
Knox. 

John  Kane  now  ascended  to  us,  and  came  to 
a  standstill,  with  his  soft  black  hat  in  his  hands ; 
it  was  dusty,  so  were  his  boots,  and  the  pockets 
of  his  coat  bulked  large.  Among  the  green 
drifts  and  flakes  of  the  pale  young  beech  leaves 

9 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

his  bushy  beard  looked  as  red  as  a  squirrel's 
tail. 

*'  I  have  the  commands  here,  Master  Flurry," 
he  began,  **and  it's  to  yourself  I'd  sooner  give 
them.  As  for  them  ger'rls  that's  inside  in  the 
kitchen,  they  have  every  pup  in  the  place  in  a 
thrain  at  the  back  door,  and,  if  your  tobacco  went 
asthray,  it's  me  that  would  be  blemt." 

"The  commands" — i.e.  some  small  parcels 
— were  laid  on  the  stone  table,  minor  pockets 
yielded  an  assortment  of  small  moneys  that  were 
each  in  turn  counted  and  placed  in  heaps  by 
their  consort  parcels. 

**  And  as  for  the  bottle,  the  misthress  wrote 
down  for  me,"  said  John  Kane,  his  eye  rounding 
up  his  audience  like  a  sheep-dog,  **  I  got  me 
'nough  with  the  same  bottle.  But  sure  them's 
the  stupidest  people  in  Hennessy's!  'Twas  to 
Hennessy  himself  I  gave  the  misthress's  paper, 
and  he  was  there  looking  at  it  for  a  while.  'What 
have  she  in  it?  '  says  he  to  me.  *  How  would  I 
know,'  says  I,  *  me  that  have  no  learning  } '  He 
got  the  spy-glass  to  it  then,  and  'twas  shortly  till 
all  was  in  the  shop  was  gethered  in  it  looking  at 
it.  *  Twould  take  an  expairt  to  read  it  I '  says 
one  fella " 

"True  for  him  I"  said  Flurry. 

** *  She  have  written  it  in  Latin!'  says 

to 


m 


The  Aussolas  Martin  Cat 

Hennessy.  *  Faith  she's  able  to  write  it  that 
way,  or  anny  other  way  for  yee ! '  says  I .  *  Well, 
I'll  tell  ye  now  what  ye'll  do,'  says  Hennessy. 
*  There's  a  boy  in  the  Medical  Hall,  and  he's  able 
to  read  all  languages.  Show  it  to  him,'  says  he. 
I  showed  it  then  to  the  boy  in  the  Medical  Hall. 
Sure,  the  very  minute  he  looked  at  it — '  Elliman's 
Embrocation,'  says  he."  John  Kane  waved  his 
hand  slightly  to  one  side ;  his  gestures  had 
throughout  been  supple  and  restrained.  **  Sure 
them's  the  stupidest  people  in  Hennessy's  !  " 

My  sympathies  were  with  the  house  of  Hen- 
nessy ;  I,  too,  had  encountered  Mrs.  Knox's  hand- 
writing, and  realised  the  high  imaginative  and 
deductive  qualities  needed  in  its  interpreter. 
No  individual  word  was  decipherable,  but,  with 
a  bold  reader,  groups  could  be  made  to  conform 
to  a  scheme  based  on  probabilities. 

"  You  can  tell  the  mistress  what  they  were 
saying  at  Hennessy's  about  her,"  said  Flurry. 

*'  I  will,  your  honour,"  replied  John,  accepting 
the  turn  in  the  conversation  as  easily  as  a  skilful 
motorist  changes  gear.  **  I  suppose  you'll  have 
a  job  for  me  at  Tory  Lodge  when  I  get  the  sack 
from  the  misthress  ?  " 

"  No,  but  they  tell  me  I'm  to  be  put  on  the 
Old  Age  Pension  Committee,"  returned  Flurry, 
"  and  I  might  get  a  chance  to  do  something  for 

II 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

you  if  you'd  give  over  dyeing  that  beard  you 
have." 

'*  I'm  sorry  to  say  it's  the  Almighty  is  dyeing 
my  beard  for  me,  sir,"  replied  John  Kane,  finger- 
ing a  grey  streak  on  his  chin,  **  and  I  think  He's 
after  giving  yourself  a  touch,  too !  "  He  glanced 
at  the  side  of  Flurry's  head,  and  his  eye  travelled 
on  to  mine.  There  was  an  almost  flagrant 
absence  of  triumph  in  it. 

He  put  aside  a  beechen  bough  with  his  hand ; 
"I'll  leave  the  things  on  the  hall  table  for  you, 
sir,"  he  said,  choosing  the  perfect  moment  for 
departure,  and  passed  out  of  sight.  The  bough 
swung  into  place  behind  him ;  it  was  like  an  exit 
in  a  pastoral  play. 

*'  She  never  told  me  about  the  embrocation," 
said  Sally,  leaning  back  against  the  mossed  stones 
of  the  bench  and  looking  up  into  the  web  of 
branches.     "  She  never  will  admit  that  she's  ill." 

"  Poor  old  Mrs.  Knox !  "  said  Philippa  com- 
passionately, "  I  thought  she  looked  so  ill  last 
night  when  she  was  playing  bridge.  Such  a  tiny 
fragile  thing,  sitting  wrapped  up  in  that  great  old 
chair " 

Philippa  is  ineradicably  romantic,  yet  my  mind, 
too,  dwelt  upon  the  old  autocrat  lying  there,  ill 
and  undefeated,  in  the  heart  of  her  ancient 
fortress. 

12 


The  Aussolas  Martin  Cat 

**  Fragile!"  said  Flurry,  '*  you'd  best  not  tell 
her  that.  With  my  grandmother  no  one's  ill 
till  they're  dead,  and  no  one's  dead  till  they're 
buried ! " 

Away  near  the  house  the  peacock  uttered  his 
defiant  screech,  a  note  of  exclamation  that  seemed 
entirely  appropriate  to  Aussolas  ;  the  turkey-cock 
in  the  yard  accepted  the  challenge  with  effusion, 
and  from  further  away  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Knox's 
Kerry  bull,  equally  instant  in  taking  offence, 
ascended  the  gamut  of  wrath  from  growl  to  yell. 
Blended  with  these  voices  was  another — a  man's 
voice,  in  loud  harangue,  advancing  down  the  long 
beech  walk  to  the  kitchen  garden.  As  it  ap- 
proached, the  wood-pigeons  bolted  in  panic,  with 
distracted  clappings  of  wings,  from  the  tall  firs  by 
the  garden  wall  in  which  they  were  wont  to  sit 
arranging  plans  of  campaign  with  regard  to  the 
fruit.  We  sat  in  tense  silence.  The  latch  of  the 
garden  gate  clicked,  and  the  voice  said  in  sten- 
torian tones : 

" My  father  'e  kept  a  splendid  table!" 

"  I  hear  wheels  !  "  breathed  Sally  Knox. 

A  hawthorn  tree  and  a  laburnum  tree  leaned 
over  the  garden  gate,  and  from  beneath  their 
canopy  of  cream  and  pale  gold  there  emerged 
the  bath-chair  of  Mrs.  Knox,  with  Mrs.  Knox 
herself  seated  in  it.     It  was  propelled  by  Mullins 

13 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

— even  at  that  distance  the  indignation  of  Mullins 
was  discernible — and  it  progressed  up  the  central 
path.  Beside  it  walked  the  personage  whose 
father  had  kept  a  splendid  table.  Parenthetically 
it  may  be  observed  that  he  did  credit  to  it. 

**  Glory  be  to  Moses !  Look  at  my  grand- 
mother! "  said  Flurry  under  his  breath.  **  How 
fragile  she  is!  Who  the  dickens  has  she  got 
hold  of?" 

**  He  thinks  she's  deaf,  anyhow,"  said  Sally. 

"That's  where  he  makes  the  mistake!"  re- 
turned Flurry. 

**  I  don't  see  your  glawss,  Mrs.  Knox,"  shouted 
the  stout  gentleman. 

**  That's  very  possible,"  replied  the  incisive 
and  slightly  cracked  voice  of  Mrs.  Knox,  **  be- 
cause the  little  that  is  left  of  it  is  in  the  mortar 
on  the  wall,  to  keep  thieves  out,  which  it  fails 
to  do." 

The  pair  passed  on,  and  paused,  still  in  high 
converse,  at  the  asparagus  beds  ;  Mullins,  behind 
the  bath-chair,  wiped  her  indignant  brow. 

**  You'll  go  home  without  the  asparagus," 
whispered  Flurry,  **  she  has  every  stick  of  it 
counted  by  now! " 

They  moved  on,  heading  for  the  further  gate 
of  the  garden. 

**  I'll  bet  a  sovereign  he's  come  after  the  house ! " 

14 


The  Aussolas  Martin  Cat 

Flurry  continued,  following  the  cortege  with  a 
malevolent  eye. 

Later,  when  we  returned  to  the  house,  we 
found  a  motor-bicycle,  dusty  and  dwarfish,  leaning 
against  the  hall  door  steps.  Within  was  the 
sound  of  shouting.     It  was  then  half-past  seven. 

"Is  it  possible  that  she's  keeping  him  for 
dinner  ?  "  said  Sally. 

**Take  care  he's  not  staying  for  the  night!" 
said  Flurry.  **  Look  at  the  knapsack  he  has  on 
the  table ! " 

**  There's  only  one  room  he  can  possibly  have," 
said  Mrs.  Flurry,  with  a  strange  and  fixed  gaze 
at  her  lord,  **  and  that's  the  James  the  Second 
room.     The  others  are  cleared  for  the  painters." 

**  Oh,  that  will  be  all  right,"  replied  her  lord, 
easily. 

When  I  came  down  to  dinner  I  found  the  new 
arrival  planted  on  his  short,  thick  legs  in  front  of 
the  fireplace,  still  shouting  at  Mrs.  Knox,  who, 
notwithstanding  the  sinister  presence  of  the  two 
shawls  of  ill-omen,  was  listening  with  a  propitious 
countenance.  She  looked  very  tired,  and  I  com- 
mitted the  gauckerie  of  saying  I  was  sorry  to  hear 
she  had  not  been  well. 

**  Oh,  that  was  nothing !  '*  said  Mrs.  Knox, 
with  a  wave  of  her  tiny,  sunburnt,  and  be- 
diamonded  hand.     **  I've  shaken  that   off,   Mike 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

dewdrops  from  the  lion's  mane ! '  This  is  Mr. 
Tebbutts,  from — er — England,  Major  Yeates." 

Mr.  Tebbutts,  after  a  bewildered  stare,  presum- 
ably in  search  of  the  lion,  proclaimed  his  gratifica- 
tion at  meeting  me,  in  a  voice  that  might  have 
been  heard  in  the  stable  yard. 

At  dinner  the  position  developed  apace.  The 
visitor  was,  it  appeared,  the  representative  of  a 
patriarchal  family,  comprising  samples  of  all  the 
relationships  mentioned  in  the  table  of  affinities, 
and  fortissimo^  and  at  vast  length,  he  laid  down 
their  personal  histories  and  their  various  require- 
ments. It  was  pretty  to  see  how  old  Mrs.  Knox, 
ill  as  she  looked,  and  suffering  as  she  undoubtedly 
was,  mastered  the  bowling. 

Did  the  Tebbutts  ladies  exact  bathing  for  their 
young  ?     The  lake  supplied  it. 

(**  It's  all  mud  and  swallow-holes  ! "  3aid  Flurry 
in  an  audible  aside.) 

Did  the  brothers  demand  trout  fishing?  the 
schoolboys  rabbit  shooting.?  the  young  ladies 
lawn  tennis  and  society  ? — all  were  theirs,  especi- 
ally the  latter.  **  My  grandson  and  his  wife  will 
be  within  easy  reach  in  their  own  house,  Tory 
Lodge!" 

The  remark  about  the  swallow-holes  had  not 
been  lost  upon  the  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

Mrs.  Knox  had  her  glass  of  port  at  dessert,  an 

i6 


The  Aussolas  Martin  Cat 

act  equivalent  to  snapping  her  rheumatic  fingers 
.  in  our  faces,  and  withdrew,  stiff  but  erect,  and  still 
on  the  best  of  terms  with  her  prospective  tenant. 
As  I  held  the  door  open  for  her,  she  said  to  me : 

"  *  'Twas  whispered  in  heaven,  'twas  muttered 
in  hell.'" 

By  an  amazing  stroke  of  luck  I  was  enabled  to 
continue : 

*'  *  And  echo  caught  softly  the  sound  as  it  fell ! ' " 
with  a  glance  at  Mr.  Tebbutts  that  showed  I  was 
aware  the  quotation  was  directed  at  his  missing 
aspirates. 

As  the  door  closed,  the  visitor  turned  to  Flurry 
and  said  impressively : 

**  There's  just  one  thing,  Mr.  Knox,  I  should 
like  to  mention,  if  you  will  allow  me.  Are  the 
drains  quite  in  order  ?  " 

**  God  knows,"  said  Flurry,  pulling  hard  at  a 
badly-lighted  cigarette  and  throwing  himself  into 
a  chair  by  the  turf  fire. 

"  Mrs.  Knox's  health  has  held  out  against  them 
for  about  sixty  years,"  I  remarked. 

**  Well,  as  to  that,"  replied  Mr.  Tebbutts,  "  I 
feel  it  is  only  right  to  mention  that  the  dear  old 
lady  was  very  giddy  with  me  in  the  garden  this 
afternoon." 

Flurry  received  this  remarkable  statement  with- 
out emotion. 

17  B 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

"  Maybe  she's  taken  a  fancy  to  you !  "  he  said 
brutally.     ^*  If  it  wasn't  that  it  was  whipped  cream." 

Mr.  Tebbutts'  bulging  eyes  sought  mine  in 
complete  mystification ;  I  turned  to  the  fire,  and 
to  it  revealed  my  emotions.  Flurry  was  not  at 
all  amused. 

"Well — er — I  understood  her  maid  to  say  she 
*ad  bin  ailing,"  said  the  guest  after  a  pause.  "I'd 
have  called  it  a  kind  of  a  megrim  myself,  and,  as 
I  say,  I  certainly  perceived  a  sort  of  charnel-'ouse 
smell  in  the  room  I'm  in.  And  look  'ere,  Mr. 
Knox,  'ere's  another  thing.  'Ow  about  rats? 
You  know  what  ladies  are ;  there's  one  of  my 
sisters-in-law,  Mrs.  William  Tebbutts,  who'd  just 
scream  the  'ouse  down  if  she  'eard  the  'alf  of  what 
was  goin'  on  behind  the  panelling  in  my  room 
this  evening." 

"Anyone  that's  afraid  of  rats  had  better  keep 
out  of  Aussolas,"  said  Flurry,  getting  up  with  a 
yawn. 

"  Mr.  Tebbutts  is  in  the  James  the  Second 
room,  isn't  he?"  said  I,  idly.  "Isn't  that  the 
room  with  the  powdering-closet  off  it  ?  " 

"It  is,"  said  Flurry.  **  Anything  else  you'd 
like  to  know  ?" 

I  recognised  that  someone  had  blundered, 
presumably  myself,  and  made  a  move  for  the 
drawing-room. 

i8 


The  Aussolas  Martin  Cat 

Mrs.  Knox  had  retired  when  we  got  there  ;  my 
wife  and  Mrs.  Flurry  followed  suit  as  soon  as 
might  be ;  and  the  guest  said  that,  if  the  gentle- 
men had  no  objection,  he  thought  he'd  turn  in  too. 

Flurry  and  I  shut  the  windows — fresh  air  is  a 
foible  of  the  female  sex — heaped  turf  on  the  fire, 
drew  up  chairs  in  front  of  it,  and  composed  our- 
selves for  that  sweetest  sleep  of  all,  the  sleep  that 
has  in  it  the  bliss  of  abandonment,  and  is  made 
almost  passionate  by  the  deep  underlying  know- 
ledge that  it  can  be  but  temporary. 

How  long  we  had  slumbered  I  cannot  say  ;  it 
seemed  but  a  moment  when  a  door  opened  in 
our  dreams,  and  the  face  of  Mr.  Tebbutts  was 
developed  before  me  in  the  air  like  the  face  of 
the  Cheshire  cat,  only  without  the  grin. 

*'  Mr.  Knox  !  Gentlemen  !  "  he  began,  as  if  he 
were  addressing  a  meeting.  The  thunder  had 
left  his  voice ;  he  stopped  to  take  breath.  He 
was  in  his  shirt  and  trousers,  and  the  laces  of  his 
boots  trailed  on  the  floor  behind  him.  "  I've 
'ad  a  bit  of  a  start  upstairs.  I  was  just  winding 
up  my  watch  at  the  dressing-table  when  I  saw 
some  kind  of  an  animal  gloide  past  the  fireplace 
and  across  the  room " 

**  What  was  it  like  ? "  interrupted  Flurry,  sit- 
ting up  in  his  chair. 

**  Well,  Mr.  Knox,  it's  'ard  to  say  what  it  was 

19 


/;;  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

like.  It  wasn't  a  cat,  nor  yet  it  wasn't  what  you 
could  call  a  squirrel '* 

Flurry  got  on  to  his  feet. 

"By  the  living  Jingo!"  he  said,  turning  to 
me  an  awestruck  countenance;  "he's  seen  the 
Aussolas  Martin  Cat !  " 

I  had  never  before  heard  of  the  Aussolas 
Martin  Cat,  and  it  is  indisputable  that  a  slight 
chill  crept  down  my  backbone. 

Mr.  Tebbutts'  eyes  bulged  more  than  ever, 
and  his  lower  lip  fell. 

"  What  way  did  it  go  ?  "  said  Flurry  ;  "  did  it 
look  at  you?" 

**  It  seemed  to  disappear  in  that  recess  by  the 
door,"  faltered  the  seer  of  the  vision;  **it  just 
vanished ! " 

"  I  don't  know  if  it's  for  my  grandmother  or 
for  me,"  said  Flurry  in  a  low  voice,  "  but  it's  a 
death  in  the  house  anyway." 

The  colour  in  Mr.  Tebbutts'  face  deepened  to 
a  glossy  sealing-wax  red. 

"If  one  of  you  gents  would  come  upstairs  with 
me,"  he  said,  "  I  think  I'll  just  get  my  traps 
together.  I  can  be  back  at  the  'otel  in  'alf  an 
our 

Flurry  and  I  accompanied  Mr.  Tebbutts  to 
the  James  the  Second  room.  Over  Mrs.  Knox's 
door  there  were  panes  of  glass,  and  light  came 

20 


The  Aussolas  Martin  Cat 

^  forth  from  them.  (It  is  my  belief  that  Mrs. 
Knox  never  goes  to  bed.)  We  trod  softly  as  we 
passed  it,  and  went  along  the  uncarpeted  boards 
of  the  Musicians'  Gallery  above  the  entrance  hall. 

There  certainly  was  a  peculiar  odour  in  the 
James  the  Second  room,  and  the  adjective 
"  charnel-'ouse  "  had  not  been  misapplied. 

I  thought  about  a  dead  rat,  and  decided  that 
the  apparition  had  been  one  of  the  bandit  tribe 
of  tawny  cats  that  inhabited  the  Aussolas  stables. 
And  yet  legends  of  creatures  that  haunted  old 
houses  and  followed  old  families  came  back  to  me ; 
of  one  in  particular,  a  tale  of  medieval  France, 
wherein  **a  yellow  furry  animal"  ran  down  the 
throat  of  a  sleeping  lady  named  Sagesse. 

Mr.  Tebbutts,  by  this  time  fully  dressed,  was 
swiftly  bestowing  a  brush  and  comb  in  his  knap- 
sack. Perhaps  he,  too,  had  read  the  legend 
about  Madame  Sagesse.  Flurry  was  silently, 
and  with  a  perturbed  countenance,  examining  the 
room ;  rapping  at  the  panelling  and  peering  up 
the  cavernous  chimney ;  I  heard  him  sniff  as  he 
did  so.  Possibly  he  also  held  the  dead-rat 
theory.  He  opened  the  flap  in  the  door  of  the 
powdering-closet,  and,  striking  a  match,  held  it 
through  the  opening.  I  looked  over  his  shoulder, 
and  had  a  glimpse  of  black  feathers  on  the  floor, 
and  a  waft  of  a  decidedly  **  charnel-'ouse  "  nature. 

21 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

*'  Damn ! "  muttered  Flurry  to  himself,  and 
slammed  down  the  flap. 

"  I  think,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tebbutts,  with  his 
knapsack  in  his  hand  and  his  cap  on  his  head, 
**  I  must  ask  you  to  let  Mrs.  Knox  know  that 
this  'ouse  won't  suit  Mrs.  William  Tebbutts. 
You  might  just  say  I  was  called  away  rather 
sudden.  Of  course,  you  won't  mention  what  I 
saw  just  now — I  wouldn't  wish  to  upset  the  pore 
old  lady " 

We  followed  him  from  the  room,  and  treading 
softly  as  before,  traversed  the  gallery,  and  began 
to  descend  the  slippery  oak  stairs.  Flurry  was 
still  looking  furtively  about  him,  and  the  thought 
crossed  my  mind  that  in  the  most  hard-headed 
Irishman  there  wanders  a  vein  of  superstition. 

Before  we  had  reached  the  first  landing,  the 
violent  ringing  of  a  handbell  broke  forth  in  the 
room  with  the  light  over  the  door,  followed  by  a 
crash  of  fire-irons ;  then  old  Mrs.  Knox's  voice 
calling  imperatively  for  Mullins. 

There  was  a  sound  of  rushing,  slippered  feet, 
a  bumping  of  furniture ;  with  a  squall  from 
Mullins  the  door  flew  open,  and  I  was  endowed 
with  a  never-to-be-forgotten  vision  of  Mrs.  Knox, 
swathed  in  hundreds  of  shawls,  in  the  act  of 
hurling  the  tongs  at  some  unseen  object. 

Almost  simultaneously  there  was  a  scurry  of 

22 


The  Aussolas  Martin  Cat 

claws  on  the  oak  floor  above  us,  Mrs.  Knox's 
door  was  slammed,  and  something  whizzed  past 
me.  I  am  thankful  to  think  that  I  possess,  as  a 
companion  vision  to  that  of  Mrs.  Knox,  the  face 
of  Mr.  Tebbutts  with  the  candle  light  on  it  as 
he  looked  up  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  saw 
the  Aussolas  Martin  Cat  in  his  track. 

"Look  out,  Tebbutts!"  yelled  Flurry.  'Mt's 
you  he's  after !  " 

Mr.  Tebbutts  here  passed  out  of  the  incident 
into  the  night,  and  the  Aussolas  Martin  Cat  was 
swallowed  up  by  a  large  hole  in  the  surbase  in 
the  corner  of  the  first  landing. 

"  Hell  come  out  in  the  wine-cellar,"  said 
Flurry,  with  the  calm  that  was  his  in  moments  of 
crisis,  "the  way  the  cat  did." 

I  pulled  myself  together. 

"  What's  happened  to  the  other  Fanaghy  cub  ?  " 
I  enquired  with,  I  hope,  equal  calmness. 

*'  He's  gone  to  blazes,"  replied  Flurry  ;  "there 
isn't  a  wall  in  this  house  that  hasn't  a  way  in  it. 
I  knew  I'd  never  have  luck  with  them  after  you 
asking  the  way  from  Kitty  the  Shakes." 

As  is  usual  in  my  dealings  with  Flurry,  the 
fault  was  mine. 

While  I  reflected  on  this,  the  stillness  of  the 
night  was  studded  in  a  long  and  diminishing  line 
by  the  running  pant  of  the  motor-bicycle. 

23 


II 

THE    FINGER    OF    MRS.    KNOX 

A  BEING  Stood  in  a  dark  corner  under  the 
gallery  of  the  hall  at  Aussolas  Castle ;  a  being 
who  had  arrived  noiselessly  on  bare  feet,  and 
now  revealed  its  presence  by  hard  breathing". 

**  Come  in,  Mary,"  commanded  old  Mrs.  Knox 
without  turning  her  head  ;  **  make  up  the  fire." 

**  I  will,  ma'am,"  murmured  the  being,  advanc- 
ing with  an  apologetic  eye  upon  me,  and  an 
undulating  gait  suggestive  of  a  succession  of 
incipient  curtsies. 

She  was  carrying  an  armful  of  logs,  and, 
having  stacked  them  on  the  fire  in  a  heap  calcu- 
lated to  set  alight  any  chimney  less  roomy  than 
the  Severn  Tunnel,  she  retired  by  way  of  the 
open  hall  door  with  the  same  deferential  stealth 
with  which  she  had  entered. 

**  The  hen-woman,"  explained  Mrs.  Knox 
casually,  "the  only  person  in  this  place  who 
knows  a  dry  log  from  a  wet  one." 

Like  all  successful  rulers,  Mrs.  Knox  had  the 
power  of  divining  in  her  underlings  their  special 
gifts,  and  of  wresting  them  to  the  sphere  in  which 

24 


Tihe  Finger  of  Mrs,  Knox 

they  shone,  no  matter  what  their  normal  functions 
might  be.     She  herself  pervaded  all  spheres. 

"  There's  no  pie  but  my  grandmother  has  a 
finger  in  it,"  was  Flurry  Knox's  epitome  of  these 
high  qualities ;  a  sour  tribute  from  one  free- 
booter to  another. 

**Ifthe  Mistress  want  a  thing  she  mus'  have 
it!"  was  the  comment  of  John  Kane,  the  game- 
keeper, as  he  threw  down  the  spade  with  which 
he  was  digging  out  a  ferret,  and  armed  himself 
with  a  holly-bush  wherewith  to  sweep  the  drawing- 
room  chimney. 

As  Mrs.  Knox  and  I  sat  by  the  hen-woman's 
noble  fire,  and  gossiped,  the  cook  panted  in 
with  the  tea-tray ;  the  butler,  it  appeared,  had 
gone  out  to  shoot  a  rabbit  for  dinner.  All  these 
things  pointed  to  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Knox's 
granddaughter-in-law,  Mrs.  Flurry,  was  not,  at 
the  moment,  in  residence  at  Aussolas.  The 
Jungle  was  creeping  in ;  Sally  Knox,  by  virtue, 
I  suppose,  of  her  English  mother,  spasmodically 
endeavoured  to  keep  it  out,  but  with  her  depar- 
ture the  Wild  triumphed. 

It  was  an  October  afternoon,  grey  and  still ; 
the  hall  door  stood  open,  as  indeed  it  always  did 
at  Aussolas,  and  on  the  topmost  of  the  broad 
limestone  steps  Mrs.  Knox's  white  woolly  dog 
sat,  and  magisterially  regarded  lake  and  wood 

25 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

and  lawn.  The  tawny  bracken  flowed  like  a 
sea  to  the  palings  that  bounded  the  lawn ;  along 
its  verge  squatted  the  rabbits,  motionless  for  the 
most  part,  sometimes  languidly  changing  their 
ground,  with  hops  like  the  dying  efforts  of  a 
mechanical  toy.  The  woolly  dog  had  evidently 
learned  in  many  fruitless  charges  the  futility  of 
frontal  attack ;  a  close  and  menacing  supervision 
from  the  altitude  of  the  steps  was  all  that  was 
consistent  with  dignity,  but  an  occasional  strong 
shudder  betrayed  his  emotion.  The  open  door 
framed  also  a  pleasing  view  of  my  new  car, 
standing  in  beautiful  repose  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps,  splashed  with  the  mud  of  a  twenty-mile 
run  from  an  outlying  Petty  Sessions  Court ;  her 
presence  added,  for  me,  the  touch  of  romance. 

It  was  twilight  in  the  back  of  the  hall  by  the 
fireplace ;  the  flames  of  the  logs,  branching  like 
antlers,  made  a  courteous  and  not  too  searching 
inquisition  into  dark  corners,  and  lighted  with 
a  very  suitable  evasiveness  Mrs.  Knox's  Witch 
of  Endor  profile.  She  wore  her  usual  velvet 
bonnet ;  the  rest  of  her  attire  recalled  to  my 
memory  the  summary  of  it  by  her  kinswoman. 
Lady  Knox,  "  A  rag  bag  held  together  by  dia- 
mond brooches."  Yet,  according  to  her  wont, 
her  personality  was  the  only  thing  that  counted  ; 
it  reduced  all  externals  to  a  proper  insignificance. 

26 


The  Finger  of  Mrs,   Knox 

The  object  of  my  visit  had  ostensibly  been  to  see 
her  grandson,  but  Flurry  was  away  for  the  night. 

"  He's  sleeping  at  Tory  Lodge,"  said  Mrs. 
Knox.  **  He's  cubbing  at  Drumvoortneen,  and 
he  has  to  start  early.  He  tried  to  torment  me 
into  allowing  him  to  keep  the  hounds  in  the 
yard  here  this  season,  but  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
telling  him  that  old  as  I  might  be,  I  still  retained 
possession  of  my  hearing,  my  sense  of  smell, 
and,  to  a  certain  extent,  of  my  wits." 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  I  said  discreetly, 
**  that  Tory  Lodge  was  more  in  the  middle  of 
his  country." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  replied  Flurry's  grandmother; 
'*  but  it  is  not  in  the  middle  of  my  straw,  my 
meal,  my  buttermilk,  my  firewood,  and  anything 
else  of  mine  that  can  be  pilfered  for  the  uses 
of  a  kennel!"  She  concluded  with  a  chuckle 
that  might  have  been  uttered  by  a  scald-crow. 

I  was  pondering  a  diplomatic  reply,  when  the 
quiet  evening  was  rent  by  a  shrill  challenge  from 
the  woolly  dog. 

'Thy  sentinel  am  I!"  he  vociferated,  bark- 
ing himself  backwards  into  the  hall,  in  proper 
strategic  retreat  upon  his  base. 

A  slow  foot  ascended  the  steps,  and  the  twi- 
light in  the  hall  deepened  as  a  man's  figure 
appeared  in  the  doorway  ;    a  middle-aged  man, 

27 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

with  his  hat  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  a  thick 
stick,  with  which  he  was  making  respectfully  in- 
timidating demonstrations  to  the  woolly  dog. 

**Who  are  you?"  called  out  Mrs.  Knox  from 
her  big  chair. 

"  I'm  Casey,  your  ladyship,"  replied  the  visitor 
in  a  deplorable  voice,  **  from  Killoge." 

** Cornelius  Casey?  "  queried  Mrs.  Knox. 

**  No,  but  his  son,  your  honour  ma'am,  Stephen 
Casey,  one  of  the  tenants." 

**Well,  come  in,  Stephen,"  said  Mrs.  Knox 
affably,  supplementing  her  spectacles  with  a  gold- 
rimmed  single  eye-glass,  and  looking  at  him  with 
interest.  **  I  knew  your  father  well  in  old  times, 
when  he  used  to  stop  the  earths  in  Killoge  Wood 
for  the  Colonel.  They  tell  me  that's  all  cut  down 
now?" 

"  There's  not  the  boiling  of  a  kettle  left  in  it 
afther  Goggin,  my  lady ! "  said  Casey  eagerly. 
Mrs.  Knox  cut  him  short. 

"  Many  a  good  hunt  the  Colonel  had  out  of 
Killoge,  and  I  too,  for  the  matter  of  that ! "  she 
added,  turning  to  me ;  **  my  cousin  Bessie 
Hamilton  and  I  were  the  only  huntresses  in  the 
country  in  those  days,  and  people  thought  us 
shocking  tomboys,  I  believe.  Now,  what  with 
driving  motors  and  riding  astride,  the  gentlemen 
are  all  ladies,   and  the  ladies  are  gentlemen !  * 

28 


T^he  Finger  of  Mrs,  Knox 

With  another  scald-crow  chuckle  she  turned  to' 
Casey.  "  Did  your  father  ever  tell  you  of  the 
great  hunt  out  of  Killoge  into  the  Fanaghy  cliffs?  " 

**  He  did,  your  ladyship,  he  did ! "  responded 
Casey,  with  a  touch  of  life  in  his  lamentable 
voice.  **  Often  he  told  me  that  it  knocked  fire 
from  his  eyes  to  see  yourself  facing  in  at  the 
Killoge  river." 

"  I  was  riding  Bijou,  the  grandmother  of  old 
Trinket,  in  that  run,"  said  Mrs.  Knox,  leaning 
back  in  her  chair,  with  a  smile  that  had  some- 
thing of  the  light  of  other  days  in  it. 

I  remembered  the  story  that  Colonel  Knox 
had  run  away  with  her  after  a  hunt,  and  wondered 
if  that  had  been  the  occasion  when  she  had 
knocked  fire  from  the  eyes  of  Cornelius  Casey. 

Her  thin  old  hand  drooped  in  momentary 
languor  over  the  arm  of  her  chair  ;  and  the  woolly 
dog  thrust  his  nose  under  it,  with  a  beady  eye 
fixed  upon  the  hot  cakes. 

"  Here ! "  said  Mrs.  Knox,  sitting  up,  and 
throwing  a  buttery  bun  on  the  floor.  **  Be  off 
with  you !  Well,  Casey,"  she  went  on,  ''  what 
is  it  you  want  with  me  ?  " 

"  Great  trouble  I  got,  Mrs.  Knox,  your  honour 
ma'am,"  replied  Casey  from  the  door-mat,  **  great 
trouble  entirely."  He  came  a  step  or  two  nearer. 
He  had  a  long,  clean-shaved  face,  with  mournful 

29 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

eyes,  like  a  sick  bloodhound,  and  the  enviable, 
countryman's  thatch  of  thick,  strong  hair,  with 
scarcely  a  touch  of  grey  in  it. 

"  That  Goggin,  that  has  the  shop  at  Killoge 
Cross,  has  me  processed.  I'm  pairsecuted  with 
him  ;  and  the  few  little  bastes  I  has,  and  me 
donkey  and  all — "  his  voice  thinned  to  a  whimper, 
**  he's  to  drive  them  to-morrow " 

*' I  suppose  that's  Goggin,  the  Gombeen?" 
said  Mrs.  Knox  ;  **  how  were  you  fool  enough  to 
get  into  dealings  with  him  ?  " 

The  statement  of  Casey's  wrongs  occupied 
quite  ten  minutes,  and  was  generous  in  detail. 
His  land  was  bad,  ever  and  always.  The  grass 
that  was  in  it  was  as  bare  as  that  you  could  pick 
pins  in  it.  He  had  no  pushing  land  at  all  for 
cattle.  Didn't  he  buy  a  heifer  at  Scabawn  fair 
and  the  praisings  she  got  was  beyant  all 
raves,  and  he  had  her  one  month,  and  kinder 
company  he  never  had,  and  she  giving  seven 
pints  at  every  meal,  and  wasn't  that  the  divil's 
own  produce?  One  month,  indeed,  was  all  he 
had  her  till  she  got  a  dropsy,  and  the  dropsy 
supported  her  for  a  while,  and  when  it  left  her 
she  faded  away.  And  didn't  his  wife  lose  all  her 
hens  in  one  week  ?  "  They  fell  dead  on  her, 
like  hailstones  ! "  He  ceased,  and  a  tear  wan- 
dered down  the  channels  in  his  long  cheek. 

30 


The  Finger  of  Mrs,  Knox 

"How  much  do  you  owe  Goggin?**  asked 
Mrs.  Knox  sharply. 

What  Casey  owed  to  Goggin  had,  as  might 
have  been  expected,  but  a  remote  relation  to  the 
sum  that  Goggin  was  now  endeavouring  to  ex- 
tract from  Casey.  At  the  heart  of  the  transaction 
was  a  shop  account,  complicated  by  loans  of 
single  pounds  (and  in  my  mind's  eye  I  could  see, 
and  with  my  mind's  nose  I  could  smell,  the  dirty 
crumpled  notes).  It  was  further  entangled  by 
per-contra  accounts  of  cribs  of  turf,  scores  of  eggs, 
and  a  day's  work  now  and  again.  I  had,  from 
the  judgment  seat,  listened  to  many  such  recitals, 
so,  apparently,  had  Mrs.  Knox,  judging  by  the 
ease  with  which  she  straightened  Casey's  devious 
narrative  at  critical  points,  and  shepherded  him 
to  his  facts,  like  a  cunning  old  collie  steering  a 
sheep  to  its  pen.  The  conclusion  of  the  matter 
was  that  Goggin  was,  on  the  morrow,  to  take 
possession  of  Casey's  remaining  stock,  consisting 
of  three  calves,  a  donkey,  and  a  couple  of  goats,  in 
liquidation  of  a  debt  of  ;^I5,  and  that  he,  Stephen 
Casey,  knew  that  Mrs.  Knox  would  never  be 
satisfied  to  see  one  of  her  own  tenants  wronged. 

"  I  have  no  tenants,"  replied  Mrs.  Knox  tartly  ; 
**the  Government  is  your  landlord  now,  and  I 
wish  you  joy  of  each  other !  " 

"  Then  I  wish  to  God  it  was  yourself  we  had 

31 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

in  it  again !  "  lamented  Stephen  Casey  ;  "  it  was 
better  for  us  when  the  gentry  was  managing 
their  own  business.  They'd  give  patience,  and 
they'd  have  patience." 

*'  Well,  that  will  do  now,"  said  Mrs.  Knox  ;  "  go 
round  to  the  servants'  hall  and  have  your  tea. 
I'll  see  what  I  can  do." 

There  was  silence  while  Stephen  Casey  with- 
drew. As  the  sound  of  his  hobnailed  tread  died 
away  the  woolly  dog  advanced  very  stiffly  to  the 
hall  door,  and,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  depart- 
ing visitor,  licked  his  lips  hungrily. 

"  When  those  rascals  in  Parliament  took  our 
land  from  us,"  said  Mrs.  Knox,  flinging  a  sod  of 
turf  on  to  the  huge  fire  with  practised  aim,  "we 
thought  we  should  have  some  peace,  now  we're 
both  beggared  and  bothered  !  "  She  turned  upon 
me  a  countenance  like  that  of  an  ancient  and  spec- 
tacled falcon.  *'  Major  Yeates!  You  have  often 
offered  me  a  drive  in  your  motor-car.  Will  you 
take  me  to  Killoge  to-morrow  morning  ?  " 

It  was  a  brisk  and  windy  morning,  with  the 
sharpness  of  9  a.m.  in  it,  when  Mullins,  Mrs. 
Knox's  tirewoman,  met  me  at  the  hall  door  of 
Aussolas  with  her  arms  full  of  shawls,  and  a 
countenance  dark  with  doom  and  wrath.  She 
informed  me  that  it  was  a  shame  for  me  to  be 
enticing  the  Mistress  out  of  her  bed  at  this  hour 

32 


The  Finger  of  Mrs.  Knox 

of  the  morning,  and  that  she  would  get  her  death 
out  of  it.  I  was  repudiating  this  soft  impeach- 
ment (which  had  indeed  some  flavour  of  the 
Restoration  drama  about  it),  when  the  companion 
of  my  flight  appeared. 

**  How  would  anyone  know  the  minute — "  con- 
tinued Mullins,  addressing  the  universe,  **  that  this 
what's-this-ril-call-it  w^ouldn't  turn  into  a  bog- 
hole  ? "  She  put  this  conundrum  while  fiercely 
swaddling  her  mistress  in  cloak  upon  cloak.  I 
attempted  no  reply,  and  Mrs.  Knox,  winking  both 
eyes  at  me  over  the  rim  of  the  topmost  shawl, 
was  hoisted  into  the  back  of  the  car ;  as  we 
glided  away  I  had,  at  all  events,  the  consolation 
of  knowing  that,  in  the  event  of  an  accident, 
Mrs.  Knox  in  her  cloaks  would  float  from  the 
car  as  softly  and  bulkily  as  a  bumble  bee. 

As  we  ran  out  of  the  gates  on  to  the  high  road 
I  remembered  that  my  passenger's  age  was 
variously  reckoned  at  from  ninety  to  a  hundred, 
and  thought  it  well  to  ask  her  if  fifteen  miles  an 
hour  would  be  too  fast  for  pleasure. 

**  You  can't  go  too  fast  to  please  me,"  replied 
Mrs.  Knox,  through  the  meshes  of  a  Shetland 
shawl.  *•  When  I  was  a  girl  I  rode  a  fourteen-hand 
pony  to  the  fourteenth  milestone  on  the  Cork 
road  in  a  minute  under  the  hour !  I  think  you 
should  be  able  to  double  that !  '* 

33  C 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

I  replied  to  this  challenge  with  twenty  miles  an 
hour,  which,  with  a  head  wind  and  a  bad  road,  I 
considered  to  be  fast  enough  for  any  old  lady. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  too  fast  for  her  costume. 
We  had  run  some  eight  or  nine  miles  before, 
looking  back,  I  noticed  that  a  change  of  some 
sort  had  occurred. 

"  Oh,  the  red  one  blew  away  long  ago !  '* 
screamed  Mrs.  Knox  against  the  wind  ;  "  it  doesn't 
matter,  I  shall  get  it  back — I'll  ask  Father  Scanlan 
to  speak  about  it  at  Mass  next  Sunday.  There's 
a  veil  gone  too — how  frantic  Mullins  will  be  ! " 

A  skirl  of  laughter  came  from  the  recesses  of 
the  remaining  shawls. 

We  were  running  now  on  a  level  road  under 
the  lee  of  a  long  line  of  hills  ;  a  strip  of  plantation, 
gay  with  the  yellows  and  greens  of  autumn,  clung 
to  a  steep  slope  ahead  of  us,  and,  at  the  top  of  it, 
some  ragged  pines  looked  like  blots  against  the 
sky.  As  we  neared  it,  a  faint  and  long-drawn 
call  came  from  the  height ;  presently  among  the 
tree-trunks  we  saw  hounds,  like  creatures  in  a 
tapestry  hunting  scene,  working  up  and  up  through 
the  brown  undergrowth.     I  slackened  speed. 

** 'Pon  my  honour,  we've  hit  off  the  Hunt!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Knox. 

As  she  spoke  there  was  a  responsive  yelp  from 
a  tract  of  briars  in  the  lower  part  of  the  wood ; 

34 


The  Finger  of  Mrs.   Knox 

two  or  three  couples  jostled  downwards  to  their 
comrade,  and  a  full  chorus,  led  by  the  soprano 
squeals  of  the  Hunt  terrier,  arose  and  streamed 
along  the  wood  above  the  road.  I  came  to  a 
full  stop,  and,  just  in  front  of  us,  a  rabbit  emerged 
very  quietly  from  the  fence  of  the  wood,  crept 
along  in  the  ditch,  and  disappeared  in  a  hole  in 
the  bank.  The  hounds  still  uttered  the  classic 
paeans  of  the  Chase ;  hoofs  clattered  in  a  steep 
lane  on  the  hill-side,  and  Flurry  Knox  charged 
on  to  the  road  a  little  ahead  of  us. 

**  Forrad,  forrad,  forrad ! "  he  shouted  as  he 
came. 

"Rabbit,  rabbit,  rabbit!"  cackled  his  grand- 
mother at  him  in  malevolent  imitation. 

I  let  the  car  go,  and  as  we  flew  past  him  he 
asked  me,  sideways  out  of  a  very  red  face,  what 
the  devil  I  was  doing  there.  It  was  evident  that 
Mrs.  Knox's  observation  had  been  accepted  in 
the  spirit  in  which  it  was  offered. 

"  That  will  do  my  young  gentleman  no  harm ! " 
said  Mrs.  Knox  complacently,  as  we  became  a 
speck  in  the  distance. 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  we  ran  down  a 
valley  between  steep  hills  to  Killoge  cross-roads. 
The  hill-sides  were  set  thick  with  tree  stumps, 
like  the  crowded  headstones  of  a  cemetery,  with 
coarse  grass  and  briars  filling  the  spaces  between 

35 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

them.  Here  and  there  a  slender,  orphaned  ash 
sapling,  spared  because  despised,  stood  among 
the  havoc,  and  showed  with  its  handful  of  yellow 
leaves  what  the  autumn  colours  might  once  have 
been  here.  A  starkly  new,  cemented  public- 
house,  with  **  J.  Goggin  "  on  the  name  board,  stood 
at  the  fork  of  the  roads.  Doubtless  into  it  had 
flowed  the  blood-money  of  the  wood  ;  it  repre- 
sented the  alternative  offered  to  the  community  by 
Mr.  Goggin.     I  slowed  up  and  looked  about  me. 

**  I  suppose  this  is — or  was — Killoge  Wood  }  " 
I  said  to  my  passenger. 

Mrs.  Knox  was  staring  through  her  spectacles 
at  the  devastated  hill-side. 

"  Ichabod,  Ichabod !  '*  she  murmured,  and 
leaned  back  in  her  place. 

A  man  got  up  from  a  heap  of  stones  by  the 
roadside  and  came  slowly  towards  the  car. 

**  Well,  Stephen,"  began  Mrs.  Knox  irritably, 
**  what  about  the  cattle  ?  He  looks  as  if  he  were 
walking  behind  his  own  coffin ! "  she  continued  in 
a  loud  aside  to  me. 

Stephen  Casey  removed  his  hat,  and  with  it 
indicated  a  group  composed  of  three  calves — and 
nothing  can  look  as  dejected  as  an  ill-fed,  under- 
bred calf — two  goats,  and  a  donkey,  attended  by 
a  boy  with  a  stick,  and  a  couple  of  cur  dogs. 

**  Himself  and  the  sheriffs  man  is  after  driving 

36 


'The  Finger  of  Mrs,   Knox 

them,  my  lady,"  replied  their  proprietor,  and 
proceeded  to  envelop  the  name  of  Goggin  in  a 
flowing  mantle  of  curses. 

**  There,  that  will  do  for  the  present,'*  said  Mrs. 
Knox  peremptorily,  as  Casey,  with  tears  stream- 
ing down  his  face,  paused  to  catch  his  wind. 
** Where's  Goggin?" 

**The  two  of  them  is  inside  in  the  shop," 
answered  the  miserable  Casey,  still  weeping  copi- 
ously. 

I  drove  over  to  the  public-house,  thinking  that 
if  Casey  could  not  put  up  a  better  fight  than  this 
it  would  be  difficult  to  do  much  for  him.  The 
door  of  the  pub  was  already  filled  by  the  large 
and  decent  figure  of  Mr.  Goggin,  who  advanced 
to  meet  us,  taking  off  his  hat  reverentially  ;  I 
remembered  at  once  his  pale  and  pimpled  face, 
his  pink  nose,  his  shabby  grey  and  yellow  beard. 
He  had  been  before  me  in  a  matter  of  selling 
drink  on  Sunday,  and  had  sailed  out  of  court  in 
stainless  triumph,  on  sworn  evidence  that  he  was 
merely  extending  hospitality  to  some  friends  that 
had  come  to  make  a  match  for  a  niece  of  his  own, 
and  were  tired  after  walking  the  land  and  putting 
a  price  on  the  cattle. 

**  Well,  Goggin,"  said  Mrs.  Knox,  waving  to- 
wards the  hill-side  a  tiny  hand  in  a  mouldy  old 
black  kid  glove,  '*  you've  done  a  great  work  here ! 

57 


In  Mr.   Knoxs  Country 

You  ve  destroyed  In  six  months  what  it  took  the 
Colonel  and  the  Lord  Almighty  eighty  years  to 
make.     That's  something  to  be  proud  of!  " 

Goggin,  again,  and  with  even  deeper  reverence, 
removed  his  hat,  and  murmured  something  about 
being  a  poor  man. 

**  It  was  your  own  grandfather  that  planted 
those  trees  for  the  Colonel,"  continued  Mrs.  Knox, 
diving,  as  it  were,  into  an  ancient  armoury  and 
snatching  a  rusty  weapon  from  the  wall. 

**  That's  the  case,  ma'am,"  replied  Mr.  Goggin 
solemnly.     *'  The  Lord  have  mercy  on  his  soul ! " 

**  You'll  be  wanting  mercy  on  your  own  soul 
in  the  next  world,  if  you  meet  the  Colonel  there ! " 
said  Mrs.  Knox  unhesitatingly. 

"I  mightn't  have  the  honour  of  meeting  the 
Colonel  there,  ma'am ! "  tittered  Goggin  syco- 
phantically. 

**You  might  not  indeed,"  responded  Mrs. 
Knox,  "but  you  might  find  your  grandfather 
making  up  a  good  fire  for  you  with  the  logs  out 
of  Killoge  Wood ! " 

'*Ha,  ha!  That's  good,  faith!"  said  a  fat 
voice  from  the  porter-flavoured  depths  of  the 
pub.  I  recognised  among  other  half-seen  faces 
the  round  cheeks  and  bristling  moustache  of  little 
M 'Sweeny,  the  sheriffs  officer,  at  Goggin's  elbow. 

**  And    what's    this    I    hear    about    Stephen 

38 


l^he  Finger  of  Mrs.  Knox 

Casey  ?  *'  went  on  Mrs.  Knox,  in  shrill  and 
trenchant  tones,  delivering  her  real  attack  now 
that  she  had  breached  the  wall.  **  You  lent  him 
five  pounds  two  years  ago,  and  now  you're  driv- 
ing all  his  stock  off!  What  do  you  call  that,  I'd 
thank  you  to  tell  me  ?  " 

In  the  discussion  that  followed  I  could  almost 
have  been  sorry  for  Goggin,  so  entirely  over- 
weighted was  he  by  Mrs.  Knox's  traditional 
prestige,  by  my  official  position,  by  knowledge  of 
the  unseen  audience  in  the  pub,  and  by  the 
inherent  rottenness  of  his  case.  Nevertheless, 
the  defence  put  forward  by  him  was  a  very 
creditable  work  of  art.  The  whole  affair  had  its 
foundation  in  a  foolish  philanthropy,  the  outcome 
of  generous  instincts  exploited  to  their  utmost, 
only,  indeed,  kept  within  bounds  by  Mr.  Goggin's 
own  financial  embarrassments.  These  he  prim- 
arily referred  back  to  the  excessive  price  extorted 
from  him  by  Mrs.  Knox's  agent  for  the  purchase 
of  his  land  under  the  Act ;  and  secondarily  to  the 
bad  debts  with  which  Stephen  Casey  and  other 
customers  had  loaded  him  in  their  dealings  with 
his  little  shop.  There  were  moments  when  I 
almost  had  to  accept  Mr.  Goggin's  point  of  view, 
so  well-ordered  and  so  mildly  stated  were  his 
facts.  But  Mrs.  Knox's  convictions  were  beyond 
and  above  any  possibility  of  being   shaken    by 

39 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

mere  evidence ;  she  has  often  said  to  me  that  if  all 
justice  magistrates  were  deaf  there  would  be  more 
done.  She  herself  was  not  in  the  least  deaf,  but 
she  knew  Mr.  Goggin,  which  did  as  well. 

"  Fifteen  pounds  worth  of  stock  to  pay  a  debt 
that  was  never  more  than  £y  !  What  do  you 
call  that,  Major  Yeates  ?  " 

She  darted  the  question  at  me. 

I  had,  some  little  time  before,  felt  my  last 
moment  of  sympathy  with  Goggin  expire,  and  I 
replied  with  considerable  heat  that,  if  Mrs.  Knox 
would  forgive  my  saying  so,  I  called  it  damned 
usury. 

From  this  point  the  Affaire  Casey  went  out 
swiftly  on  an  ebb  tide.  It  was  insinuated  by 
someone,  M 'Sweeny,  I  think,  that  an  instalment 
of  five  pounds  might  be  accepted,  and  the  eyes  of 
Goggin  turned,  tentatively,  to  Mrs.  Knox.  It 
has  always  been  said  of  that  venerable  warrior 
that  if  there  were  a  job  to  be  done  for  a  friend 
she  would  work  her  fingers  to  the  bone,  but  she 
would  never  put  them  in  her  pocket.  I  observed 
that  the  eye  of  Goggin,  having  failed  in  its  quest 
of  hers,  was  concentrating  itself  upon  me.  The 
two  walls  of  a  corner  seemed  to  rise  mysteriously 
on  either  side  of  me ;  I  suddenly,  and  without 
premeditation,  found  myself  promising  to  be  re- 
sponsible for  the  five  pounds. 

40 


\ 


The  Finger  of  Mrs,  Knox 

Before  the  glow  of  this  impulse  had  time  to  be 
succeeded  by  its  too  familiar  reaction,  the  broken, 
yet  persistent  cry  of  hounds  came  to  my  ear.  It 
advanced  swiftly,  coming,  seemingly,  from  higher 
levels,  into  the  desolated  spaces  that  had  once 
been  Killoge  Wood.  From  the  inner  depths  of 
Mrs.  Knox's  wrappings  the  face  of  the  woolly  dog 
amazingly  presented  itself;  from  the  companion 
depths  of  the  public-house  an  equally  unexpected 
party  of  convives  burst  forth  and  stood  at  gaze. 
Mrs.  Knox  tried  to  stand  up,  was  borne  down  by 
the  sheer  weight  of  rugs  and  the  woolly  dog,  glared 
at  me  for  a  tense  moment,  and  hissed,  **  They're 
coming  this  way  !     Try  to  get  a  view  !  " 

Before  the  words  had  passed  her  lips  someone 
in  the  group  at  the  door  vociferated,  "  Look  at 
him  above  !     Look  at  him  !  " 

I  looked  "  above,"  but  could  see  nothing.  Not 
so  the  rest  of  the  group. 

"  Now !  look  at  him  going  west  the  rock ! 
Now !  He's  passing  the  little  holly-tree — he's 
over  the  fence " 

I  bore,  as  I  have  so  often  borne,  the  exaspera- 
tion of,  as  it  were,  hearing  instead  of  seeing  a 
cinematograph,  but  I  saw  no  reason  why  I  should 
submit  to  the  presence  of  Mr.  M*S weeny,  who 
had  sociably  sprung  into  the  motor  beside  me 
in  order  to  obtain  a  better  view. 

41 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

**  Look  at  him  over  the  wall ! "  howled  the 
cinematograph.  "  Look  at  the  size  he  is !  Isn't 
he  the  divil  of  a  sheep  !  " 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  I  first  caught  sight 
of  the  fox,  about  fifty  yards  on  the  farther  side  of 
Casey's  assortment  of  live  stock  and  their  guar- 
dian cur  dogs,  gliding  over  the  wall  like  a  cat, 
and  slipping  away  up  the  road.  At  this  point 
Mr.  M*Sweeny,  finding  the  disadvantage  of  his 
want  of  stature,  bounded  on  to  the  seat  beside 
me  and  uttered  a  long  yell. 

"Hi!    At  him!    Tiger,  good  dog!    Hi!  Rosy!" 

I  cannot  now  say  whether  I  smote  M 'Sweeny 
in  the  legs  before  he  jumped,  or  if  I  merely  accele- 
rated the  act ;  he  appeared  to  be  running  before 
he  touched  the  ground,  and  he  probably  took  it 
as  a  send-off,  administered  in  irrepressible  fellow- 
feeling. 

Tiger  and  Rosy  were  already  laying  them- 
selves out  down  the  road,  and  their  yelps  streamed 
back  from  them  like  the  sparks  from  an  engine. 
The  party  at  the  door  was  suddenly  in  full  flight 
after  them  with  a  swiftness  and  unanimity  that 
again  recalled  the  cinematograph.  They  caught 
away  with  them  Stephen  Casey  and  his  animals ; 
and  I  had  an  enlivening  glimpse  of  the  donkey  at 
the  top  of  the  hunt,  braying  as  it  went ;  of  Goggin 
trying    in   vain   to    stem    the    companion    flight 

42 


The  Finger  of  Mrs.  Knox 

of  the  calves.  The  bend  of  the  road  hid  them 
all  from  us ;  the  thumping  of  heavy  feet,  the 
sobbing  bray  of  the  donkey,  passed  rapidly  into 
remoteness,  and  Mrs.  Knox  and  I  were  left  with 
nothing  remaining  to  us  of  the  situation  save  the 
well-defined  footmarks  of  M 'Sweeny  on  the  seat 
beside  me  (indelible,  as  I  afterwards  discovered). 

**  Get  on,  Major  Yeates!"  screamed  Mrs.  Knox, 
above  the  barking  of  the  woolly  dog.  "  We  must 
see  it  out !  " 

I  started  the  car,  and  just  before  we  in  our 
turn  rounded  the  corner  I  looked  back,  and  saw 
the  leading  hounds  coming  down  the  hill-side.  I 
slackened  and  saw  them  drop  into  the  road  and 
there  remain,  mystified,  no  doubt,  by  the  astonish- 
ing variety  of  scents,  from  goat  to  gombeen  man, 
that  presented  themselves.  Of  Flurry  and  his 
followers  there  was  no  sign. 

"  Get  on,  get  on,"  reiterated  Mrs.  Knox,  divin- 
ing, no  doubt,  my  feelings ;  "  we  shall  do  no  more 
harm  than  the  rest ! " 

I  gave  the  car  her  head,  knowing  that  what- 
ever I  did  Flurry  would  have  my  blood.  In  less 
than  two  minutes  we  were  all  but  into  Stephen 
Casey's  goats,  who,  being  yoked  together  in  body 
but  not  in  spirit,  required  the  full  width  of  the 
road  for  their  argument.  We  passed  Stephen 
Casey    and    the    gombeen    man    cornering    the 

43 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

disputed  calves  in  the  sympathetic  accord  that 
such  an  operation  demands.  As  we  neared 
M*S weeny,  who  brought  up  the  rear,  the  body 
of  the  hunt,  still  headed  by  the  donkey,  swept 
into  a  field  on  the  left  of  the  road.  The  fox,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  had  passed  from  the 
ken  of  the  cur  dogs,  and  these,  intoxicated  by 
the  incitements  of  their  owners,  now  flung  them- 
selves, with  the  adaptability  of  their  kind,  into  the 
pursuit  of  the  donkey. 

I  stopped  and  looked  back.  The  leading 
hounds  were  galloping  behind  the  car ;  I  recog- 
nised at  their  heads  Rattler  and  Roman,  the 
puppies  I  had  walked,  and  for  a  moment  was 
touched  by  this  mark  of  affection.  The  gratifi- 
cation was  brief.  They  passed  me  without  a 
glance,  and  with  anticipatory  cries  of  joy  flung 
themselves  into  the  field  and  joined  in  the  chase 
of  the  donkey. 

**  They'll  kill  him!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Knox, 
restraining  with  difficulty  the  woolly  dog ;  "  what 
good  is  Flurry  that  he  can't  keep  with  his 
hounds ! " 

Galloping  hoofs  on  the  road  behind  us  clattered 
a  reply,  accompanied  by  what  I  can  only  describe 
as  imprecations  on  the  horn,  and  Flurry  hurtled 
by  and  swung  his  horse  into  the  field  over  a  low 
bank  with  all  the  dramatic  fury  of  the  hero  rush- 

44 


T^he  Finger  of  Mrs,   Knox 

ing  to  the  rescue  of  the  leading  lady.  It  recalled 
the  incidents  that  in  the  palmy  days  of  the  Hip- 
podrome gloriously  ended  in  a  plunge  into  deep 
water,  amid  a  salvo  of  firearms. 

In  Flurry's  wake  came  the  rest  of  the  pack, 
and  with  them  Dr.  Jerome  Hickey.  **  A  great 
morning's  cubbing ! "  he  called  out,  snatching  off 
his  old  velvet  cap.  **  Thirty  minutes  with  an 
old  fox,  and  now  a  nice  burst  with  a  jackass ! " 

For  the  next  three  or  four  minutes  shrieks, 
like  nothing  so  much  as  forked  lightning,  lacer- 
ated the  air,  as  the  guilty  hounds  began  to 
receive  that  which  was  their  due.  It  seemed 
possible  that  my  turn  would  come  next ;  I  looked 
about  to  see  what  the  chances  were  of  turning 
the  car  and  withdrawing  as  soon  as  might  be, 
and  decided  to  move  on  down  the  road  in  search 
of  facilities.  We  had  proceeded  perhaps  a  hun- 
dred yards  without  improving  the  situation,  when 
my  eye  was  caught  by  something  moving  swiftly 
through  the  furze-bushes  that  clothed  a  little  hill 
on  the  right  of  the  road.  It  was  brownish  red, 
it  slid  into  the  deep  furze  that  crested  the  hill, 
and  was  gone. 

Here  was  a  heaven-sent  peace-offering ! 

*'  Tally-ho  !  "  I  bellowed,  rising  in  my  place  and 
waving  my  cap  high  in  air.     **  Tally-ho,  over  ! '' 

The  forked  lightning  ceased, 

45 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

**  What  way  is  he  ?  *'  came  an  answering  bellow 
from  Flurry. 

**  This  way,  over  the  hill !  " 

The  hounds  were  already  coming  to  the  holloa. 
I  achieved  some  very  creditable  falsetto  screeches; 
I  leaped  from  the  car,  and  cheered  and  capped 
them  over  the  fence ;  I  shouted  precise  directions 
to  the  Master  and  Whip,  who  were  now,  with  the 
clamours  proper  to  their  calling,  steeplechasing 
into  the  road  and  out  of  it  again,  followed  by  two 
or  three  of  the  Field,  including  the  new  District 
Inspector  of  the  Royal  Irish  Constabulary  (re- 
cently come  from  Meath  with  a  high  reputation 
as  a  goer).  They  scrambled  and  struggled  up 
the  hill-side,  through  rocks  and  furze  (in  connec- 
tion with  which  I  heard  the  new  D.I.  making 
some  strenuous  comments  to  his  Meath  hunter), 
the  hounds  streamed  and  screamed  over  the 
ridge  of  the  hill,  the  riders  shoved  their  puffing 
horses  after  them,  topped  it,  and  dropped  behind 
it.  The  furzy  skyline  and  the  pleasant  blue  and 
white  sky  above  it  remained  serene  and  silent. 

I  returned  to  the  car,  and  my  passenger,  who, 
as  I  now  realised,  had  remained  very  still  during 
these  excitements. 

"  That  was  a  bit  of  luck ! "  I  said  happily, 
inflated  by  the  sense  of  personal  merit  that  is  the 
portion  of  one  who  has  viewed  a  fox  away.  As  I 
spoke  I  became  aware  of  something  fixed  In  Mrs. 

46 


The  Finger  of  Mrs,   Knox 

Knox's  expression,  something  rigid,  as  though  she 
were  repressing  emotion ;  a  fear  flashed  through 
my  mind  that  she  was  overtired,  and  that  the  cry 
of  the  hounds  had  brought  back  to  her  the  days 
when  she  too  had  known  what  a  first  burst  away 
with  a  fox  out  of  Killoge  Wood  had  felt  Hke. 

**  Major  Yeates,"  she  said  sepulchrally,  and  yet 
with  some  inward  thrill  in  her  voice,  *'  I  think  the 
sooner  we  start  for  home  the  better." 

I  could  not  turn  the  car,  but,  rather  than  lose 
time,  I  ran  it  backwards  towards  the  cross-roads ; 
it  was  a  branch  of  the  art  in  which  I  had  not 
become  proficient,  and  as,  with  my  head  over  my 
shoulder,  I  dodged  the  ditches,  I  found  myself 
continually  encountering  Mrs.  Knox's  eye,  and 
was  startled  by  something  in  it  that  was  both 
jubilant  and  compassionate.  I  also  surprised  her 
in  the  act  of  wiping  her  eyes.  I  wondered  if  she 
were  becoming  hysterical,  and  yearned  for  Mullins 
as  the  policeman  (no  doubt)  yearns  for  the  mother 
of  the  lost  child. 

On  the  road  near  the  public-house  we  came 
upon  M*Sweeny,  Goggin,  and  Casey,  obviously 
awaiting  us.  I  stopped  the  car,  not  without  re- 
luctance. 

"That  will  be  all  right,  Goggin,"  said  Mrs. 
Knox  airily  ;  **  we're  in  a  hurry  to  get  home  now." 

The  three  protagonists  looked  at  one  another 
dubiously,  and  simultaneously  cleared  their  throats. 

47 


In  Mr.  Knox  5  Country 

"  I    beg   your    pardon,    Mrs.    Knox,    ma'am," 
began     Mr.     Goggin      very     delicately.      "  Mr 
M 'Sweeny  would  be  thankful  to  speak  a  word  to 
you  before  you  go." 

**  Well,  let  him  speak  and  be  quick  about  it," 
returned  Mrs.  Knox,  who  seemed  to  have  re- 
covered remarkably  from  her  moment  of  emotion. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  Major  Yeates,"  said 
Mr.  M 'Sweeny,  chivalrously  selecting  me  as  the 
person  to  whom  to  present  the  business  end  of 
the  transaction,  '*but  Tm  afraid  I  must  trouble 
you  about  that  little  matter  of  the  five  pounds 
that  we  arranged  a  while  ago — I  couldn't  go 
back  without  it  was  settled " 

Mr.  Goggin  coughed,  and  looked  at  his  boots ; 
Stephen  Casey  sighed  heavily. 

At  the  same  moment  I  thought  I  heard  the 
horn. 

**  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  got  it  with  me,"  I  said, 
pulling  out  a  handful  of  silver  and  a  half-sovereign. 
**  I  suppose  eighteen  and  sixpence  wouldn't  be 
any  use  to  you  ?  " 

Mr.  M 'Sweeny  smiled  deprecatingly,  as  at  a 
passing  jest,  and  again  I  heard  the  horn,  several 
harsh  and  prolonged  notes. 

Mrs.  Knox  leaned  forward  and  poked  me  in 
the  back  with  some  violence. 

"  Goggin  will  lend  it  to  you,"  she  said,  with 
the  splendid  simplicity  of  a  great  mind. 

48 


"I  heard  scald-crow  laughter  behind  me  in  the  shawls." 


The  Finger  of  Mrs,  Knox 

It  must  be  recorded  of  Goggin  that  he  accepted 
this  singular  inversion  of  the  position  like  a 
gentleman.  We  moved  on  to  his  house  and  he 
went  in  with  an  excellent  show  of  alacrity  to  fetch 
the  money  wherewith  I  was  to  stop  his  own 
mouth.  It  was  while  we  were  waiting  that  a  small 
wet  collie,  reddish-brown  in  colour,  came  flying 
across  the  road,  and  darted  in  at  the  open  door 
of  the  house.  Its  tongue  was  hanging  out,  it 
was  panting  heavily. 

"  I  seen  her  going  over  the  hill,  and  the  hounds 

I      after    her ;    I    thought   she    wouldn't   go    three 

[      sthretches    before   they'd    have    her   cot,"    said 

M*S weeny  pleasantly.     **  But  I  declare  she  gave 

them  a  nice  chase.     When  she  seen  the  Doctor 

I      beating  the  hounds,  that's  the  time  she  ran." 

1^  I   turned    feebly  in    my  place  and   looked  at 

Mrs.  Knox. 

**  It  was  a  very  natural  mistake,"  she  said, 
again  wiping  her  eyes  ;  **  I  myself  was  taken  in 
for  a  moment — but  only  for  a  moment ! "  she 
added,  with  abominable  glee. 

I  gave  her  but  one  glance,  laden  with  reproach, 
and  turned  to  M*Sweeny. 
I  "  You'll  get  the  five  pounds  from  Goggin,"  I 

"      said,  starting  the  car. 

As  we  ran  out  of  Killoge,  at  something  near 
thirty  miles  an  hour,  I  heard  scald-crow  laughter 
behind  me  in  the  shawls. 

49  D 


Ill 

THE    FRIEND    OF    HER    YOUTH 

It  has  come  to  this  with  me,  I  am  not  the 
country-house  visitor  that  I  once  was.  It  is  a 
sign  of  age,  I  suppose,  and  of  growing  unamia- 
bility  ;  so,  at  any  rate,  my  wife  tells  me.  For 
my  part,  I  think  it  indicates  a  power  of  discrimi- 
nating between  the  things  that  are  good  enough, 
and  the  infinitely  more  numerous  things  that  are 
the  reverse. 

**  Do  you  mean  to  say  this  isn't  good  enough  ?  '* 
said  Philippa,  putting  down  the  novel  that,  at 
II  A.M.,  she  was  shamelessly  reading,  and  indi- 
cating our  surroundings  with  a  swing  of  her  open 
parasol. 

It  was  a  perfect  morning  in  August.  She  and 
I  were  seated  in  incredible  leisure,  in  comfortable 
basket  chairs,  on  a  space  of  sward  that  sank  in 
pleasant  curves  to  the  verge  of  the  summer  sea. 
We  looked  across  three  miles  of  burnished  water 
to  the  Castle  Manus  hills,  that  showed  mistily 
through  grey  veils  of  heat ;  in  the  middle  distance 
a  40-ton  cutter  yacht  drowsed  at  anchor ;  at  the 
end  of  the  sward  a  strand,  theatrical  in  the  perfec- 

50 


7he  Friend  of  Her  Toiith 

tion  of  its  pale  sand  and  dark  rocks,  laid  itself 
out  to  attract  the  bather. 

*'I  think  it  is  very  good,"  I  replied,  **  but  it 
won't  last.  At  any  minute  old  Derryclare  will 
cgme  and  compel  me  to  go  out  trawling,  or  mend- 
ing nets,  or  cutting  up  bait,  or  mucking  out  the 
dinghey " 

**  You  may  be  thankful  if  he  lets  you  off  with 
that!"  said  Philippa,  flitting  from  her  first  posi- 
tion and  taking  up  one  in  advance  of  mine. 

Following  the  direction  of  her  eyes,  I  perceived, 
as  it  were  at  the  back  of  the  stage,  two  mysteri- 
ous, shrouded  figures  pursuing  a  swift  course  to- 
wards the  house  through  a  shrubbery  of  immense 
hydrangea  bushes.  Their  heads  resembled  mon- 
ster black  door-handles,  round  their  shoulders 
hung  flounces  of  black  muslin ;  in  gauntleted 
hands  they  bore  trays  loaded  with  "sections"  of 
honey ;  even  at  a  distance  of  fifty  yards  we  could 
see  their  attendant  cortege  of  indignant  bees. 

**  Taken  thirty  pounds  this  morning ! "  shouted 
the  leading  door-handle,  speeding  towards  the 
house.     **  Splendid  heather  honey !  " 

*'  You  ought  to  show  some  interest,"  said  my  wife 
malignly.    **  Go  in  and  look  at  it.    He's  your  host!" 

**Not  if  he  were  all  the  hosts  of  Midian!"  I 
said,  but  I  felt  shaken. 

I  rose  from  my  chair. 

51 


In  Mr.  Knox^s  Country 

**  I'm  going  to  the  motor-house,"  I  said  firmly. 

**  Very  well,  I  shall  bathe,"  replied  Philippa. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  aware  that  your  old  friend, 
Mr.  Chichester,  is  at  present  in  possession  of  the 
bathing  cove,"  I  returned,  "  and  it  might  be  as 
well  to  ascertain  the  opinion  of  your  hostess  on 
the  subject  of  mixed  bathing." 

**  Did  you  observe  that  Lord  Derryclare  was 
wearing  your  new  motor-gloves?"  said  Philippa 
as  I  moved  away. 

I  magnanimously  left  the  last  word  with  her. 

The  Derryclares  were  in  the  habit  of  hurling 
themselves,  at  intervals,  out  of  civilisation,  and 
into  the  wilderness,  with  much  the  same  zest  with 
which  those  who  live  in  the  wilderness  hurl  them- 
selves into  civilisation.  In  the  wilderness,  twenty 
miles  from  a  railway  station,  they  had  built  them 
a  nest,  and  there  led  that  variety  of  the  simple 
life  that  is  founded  on  good  servants,  old  clothes, 
and  a  total  indifference  to  weather.  Wandering 
friends  on  motor  tours  swooped  occasionally  out 
of  space;  married  daughters,  with  intervals 
between  visits  to  be  filled  in,  arrived  without 
warning,  towing  reluctant  husbands  (who  had 
been  there  before).  Lost  men,  implicated  with 
Royal  Commissions  and  Congested  Districts, 
were  washed  in  at  intervals ;  Lady  Derryclare 
said  she  never  asked  anyone  ;  people  came. 

52 


The  Friend  of  Her  Youth 

It  is  true  that  she  had  asked  us,  but  the  invita- 
tion had  been  given  on  our  wedding-day,  and 
had  been  put  away  with  our  duplicate  wedding 
presents  ;  we  had  now  disinterred  it,  because  I 
had  bought  a  motor,  and  was  still  in  the  stage  of 
enthusiasm  when  the  amateur  driver  will  beat  up 
visits  for  his  wife  to  pay.  I  do  not  know  how 
Chichester  got  there;  he,  like  Lady  Derryclare, 
dated  from  the  benighted  period  before  Philippa 
knew  me,  and  I  may  admit  that,  in  common  with 
most  husbands,  I  am  not  attracted  by  the  male 
friends  of  my  wife's  youth.  If  Chichester  had 
been  the  type  she  fancied,  was  I  merely  a  Super- 
Chichester  ? 

Chichester  was  an  elderly  young  man,  worn 
smooth  by  much  visiting  in  country  houses,  and 
thoroughly  competent  in  the  avocations  proper  to 
his  career.  He  knew  the  best  **  stands"  at  half 
the  shoots  in  Ireland,  and  could  tell  to  half  a 
crown  the  value  set  upon  each  by  the  keeper  ; 
if  you  gave  him  a  map  he  could  put  a  pudgy 
finger  upon  the  good  cooks  as  promptly  as  an 
archbishop  upon  his  cathedral  towns ;  he  played 
a  useful  and  remunerative  game  of  bridge  ;  to  see 
his  eye,  critical,  yet  alight  with  healthful  voracity, 
travelling  down  the  array  of  dishes  on  the  side- 
table  at  breakfast,  and  arranging  unhesitatingly 
the  order  in  which  they  were  to  be  attacked,  was 

53 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

a  lesson  to  the  heedless  who  blunt  the  fine  edge 
of  appetite  with  porridge. 

He  faced  me  at  lunch,  plump  and  pink  and 
shining  after  his  bathe  ;  he  was  clean-shaved  (the 
only  reliable  remedy  for  a  greying  moustache,  as 
I  did  not  fail  to  point  out  to  Philippa)  ;  it  in- 
creased his  resemblance  to  a  well-fed  and  passe 
schoolboy.  Old  Derryclare,  whose  foible  it  was 
to  believe  that  he  never  had  any  luncheon,  was 
standing  at  the  sideboard,  devouring  informally 
a  slice  of  bread  and  honey.  One  of  his  eyes  was 
bunged  up  by  bee-stings,  and  the  end  of  his  large 
nose  shone  red  from  the  same  cause. 

*'  Bill,'*  he  said,  addressing  his  eldest  son, 
"don't  you  forget  to  take  those  sections  on  board 
this  afternoon." 

*'  No  fear ! "  responded  Bill,  helping  himself  to 
a  beaker  of  barley-water  with  hands  that  bore 
indelible  traces  of  tar  and  motor  grease. 

Bill  was  a  vigorous  youth,  of  the  type  that  I 
have  heard  my  friend  Slipper  describe  as  **a 
hardy  young  splinter "  ;  he  was  supposed  to  be 
preparing  for  a  diplomatic  career,  and  in  the 
meantime  was  apparently  qualifying  for  the 
engine-room  of  a  tramp  steamer  (of  which,  it  may 
be  added,  his  father  would  have  made  a  most 
admirable  skipper). 

•'  Great    stuff,    honey,    with    a    rice-pudding," 

54 


The  Friend  of  Her  Youth 

went  on  Bill.  "  Mrs.  Yeates,  do  you  know  I  can 
make  a  topping  rice-pudding  ?  " 

I  noticed  that  Chichester,  who  was  seated  next 
to  Philippa,  suddenly  ceased  to  chew. 

**  I  can  do  you  a  very  high-class  omelette,  too," 
continued  Bill,  bashing  a  brutal  spoon  into  the 
fragile  elegance  of  something  that  looked  as  if 
it  were  made  of  snow  and  spun  glass.  **  I'm  not 
so  certain  about  my  mutton-chops  and  beefsteak, 
but  I've  had  the  knives  sharpened,  anyhow!" 

Chichester  turned  his  head  away,  as  from  a 
jest  too  clownish  to  be  worthy  of  attention.  His 
cheek  was  large,  and  had  a  tender,  beefy  flush 
in  it. 

"In  my  house,"  he  said  to  Philippa,  "  I  never 
allow  the  knives  to  be  sharpened.  If  meat  re- 
quires a  sharp  knife  it  is  not  fit  to  eat." 

**  No,  of  course  not ! "  replied  Philippa,  with 
nauseating  hypocrisy. 

"  The  principle  on  which  my  wife  buys  meat," 
I  said  to  the  table  at  large,  **  is  to  say  to  the 
butcher,  *  I  want  the  best  meat  in  your  shop ;  but 
don't  show  it  to  me ! ' " 

"  Mrs.  Yeates  is  quite  right,**  said  Chichester 
seriously ;  **  you  should  be  able  to  trust  your 
butcher." 

The  door  flew  open,  and  Lady  Derryclare  strode 
in,  wrestling  as  she  came  with  the  strings  of  a 

55 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

painting  apron,  whose  office  had  been  no  sinecure. 
She  was  tall  and  grey-haired,  and  was  just  suffi- 
ciently engrossed  in  her  own  pursuits  to  be  an 
attractive  hostess. 

"It  was  perfectly  lovely  out  there  on  the 
Sheila,''  she  said,  handing  the  apron  to  the  butler, 
who  removed  it  from  the  room  with  respectful 
disapproval.  *'  If  only  she  hadn't  swung  with  the 
tide !  I  found  my  sketch  had  more  and  more  in 
it  every  moment — turning  into  a  panorama,  in 
fact !  Yachts  would  be  perfect  if  they  had  long 
solid  legs  and  stood  on  concrete." 

I  said  that  I  thought  a  small  island  would  do 
as  well. 

Lady  Derryclare  disputed  this,  and  argued 
that  an  island  would  involve  a  garden,  whereas 
the  charm  of  a  yacht  was  that  one  hideous  bunch 
of  flowers  on  the  cabin  table  was  all  that  was 
expected  of  it,  and  that  kind  people  ashore  always 
gave  it  vegetables. 

I  said  that  these  things  did  not  concern  me,  as 
I  usually  neither  opened  my  eyes  or  touched  food 
while  yachting.  I  said  this  very  firmly,  being 
not  without  fear  that  I  might  yet  find  myself 
hustled  into  becoming  one  of  the  party  that  was 
to  go  aboard  the  Sheila  that  very  night.  They 
were  to  start  on  the  top  of  the  tide,  that  is  to 
say,   at   4   a.m.    the    following    morning,    to  sail 

56 


The  Friend  of  Her  Youth 

round  the  coast  to  a  bay  some  thirty  miles  away, 
renowned  for  its  pollack-fishing,  and  there  to 
fish.  Pollack-fishing,  as  a  sport,  does  not  appeal 
to  me ;  according  to  my  experience,  it  consists  in 
hauling  up  coarse  fish  out  of  deep  water  by 
means  of  a  hook  baited  with  red  flannel.  It 
might  appear  poor-spirited,  even  effeminate,  but 
nothing  short  of  a  press-gang  should  get  me 
on  board  the  Sheila  that  night. 

**  Every  expedition  requires  its  martyr,"  said 
Lady  Derryclare,  helping  herself  to  some  of  the 
best  cold  salmon  it  has  been  my  lot  to  encounter, 
"  it  makes  it  so  much  pleasanter  for  the  others ; 
some  one  they  can  despise  and  say  funny  things 
about." 

'*The  situation  may  produce  its  martyr,"  I 
said. 

Lady  Derryclare  glanced  quickly  at  me,  and 
then  at  Chichester,  who  was  now  expounding  to 
Philippa  the  method,  peculiar  to  himself,  by 
which  he  secured  mountain  mutton  of  the  essen- 
tial age. 

At  nine-thirty  that  night  I  sat  with  my  hostess 
and  my  wife,  engaged  in  a  domestic  game  of 
Poker-patience.  Shaded  lights  and  a  softly 
burning  turf  fire  shed  a  mellow  radiance ;  an  ex- 
quisite completeness  was  added  by  a  silken  rustle 
of  misty  rain  against  the  south  window. 

57 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

"  Do  you  think  they'll  start  in  this  weather  ?  " 
said  Philippa  sympathetically. 

*'  Seventy-five,  and  one  full  house,  ten,  that's 
eighty-five,"  said  Lady  Derryclare  abstractedly. 
**  Start.**  you  may  be  quite  sure  they'll  start! 
Then  we  three  shall  have  an  empty  house.  That 
ought  to  count  at  least  twenty ! " 

Lady  Derryclare  was  far  too  good  a  hostess 
not  to  appreciate  the  charms  of  solitude ;  that 
Philippa  and  I  should  be  looked  upon  as  solitude 
was  soothing  to  the  heart  of  the  guest,  the  heart 
that,  however  good  the  hostess,  inevitably  con- 
ceals some  measure  of  apprehension, 

**  Has  Mr.  Chichester  been  on  board  the 
Sheila  ?  "  I  enquired,  with  elaborate  unconcern. 

''Never!''  said  Lady  Derryclare  melodramati- 
cally. 

**  I  believe  he  has  done  some  yachting.-*"  I 
continued. 

**  A  five-hundred -ton  steam  yacht  to  the  West 
Indies  !  "  replied  Lady  Derryclare.  *'  Bathrooms 
and  a  chef- " 

There  was  a  thumping  of  heavy  feet  outside  the 
door,  and  the  yacht  party  entered,  headed  by  Lord 
Derryclare  with  a  lighted  lantern.  They  were  clad 
in  oilskins  and  sou'-westers ;  Bill  had  a  string  of 
onions  in  one  hand  and  a  sponge-bag  in  the  other ; 
Chichester  carried  a  large  gold-mounted  umbrella. 

58 


The  Friend  of  Her  Youth 

I  "  You  look  as  if  you  were  acting  a  charade," 

said  Lady  Derryclare,  shuffling  the  cards  for  the 
next  game,  the  game  that  would  take  place  when 
the  pleasure-seekers  had  gone  forth  into  the  rain. 
**  The  word  is  Fare-well,  I  understand  ?  " 

It  occurred  to  me  that  to  fare  well  was  the  last 
thing  that  Chichester  was  likely  to  do ;  and, 
furthermore,  that  the  same  thing  had  occurred 
to  him. 

"  *  Fare  thee  well,  my  own  Mary  Anne ! '  "  sang 
Lord  Derryclare,  in  a  voice  like  a  bassoon,  and 
much  out  of  tune.  **  It's  a  dirty  night,  but  the 
glass  is  rising,  and  "  (here  he  relapsed  again  into 
song)  **  *  We  are  bound  for  the  sea,  Mary  Anne  ! 
We  are  bound  for  the  sea ! '  " 

**Then  we're  to  meet  you  on  Friday?"  said 
Philippa,  addressing  herself  to  Chichester  in 
palpable  and  egregious  consolation. 

"  Dear  lady,"  replied  Chichester  tartly,  **  in  the 
South  of  Ireland  it  is  quite  absurd  to  make  plans. 
One  is  the  plaything  of  the  climate  !  " 

"All  aboard,"  said  Lord  Derryclare,  with  a 
swing  of  his  lantern. 

As  they  left  the  room  the  eye  of  Bill  met  mine, 
not  without  understanding. 

**  Now  D's  perfectly  happy,"  remarked  Lady 
Derryclare,  sorting  her  suits  ;  "  but  I'm  not  quite 
so  sure  about  the  Super-Cargo." 

59 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

The  game  progressed  pleasantly,  and  we  heard 
the  rain  enwrap  the  house  softly,  as  with  a 
mantle. 

The  next  three  days  were  spent  in  inglorious 
peace,  not  to  say  sloth.  On  one  of  them,  which 
was  wet,  I  cleared  off  outstanding  letters  and 
browsed  among  new  books  and  innumerable 
magazines  :  on  the  others,  which  were  fine,  I  ran 
the  ladies  in  the  car  back  into  the  hills,  and 
pottered  after  grouse  with  a  venerable  red  setter, 
while  Lady  Derryclare  painted,  and  Philippa 
made  tea.  When  not  otherwise  employed,  I 
thanked  heaven  that  I  was  not  on  board  the 
Sheila, 

On  Thursday  night  came  a  telegram  from  the 
yacht : 

'*  Ronnie's  flotilla  in ;  luncheon  party  to-morrow; 
come  early. — Bill." 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  we  were  on 
the  road ;  there  was  a  light  northerly  breeze, 
enough  to  dry  the  roads  and  to  clear  the  sky  of 
all  save  a  few  silver  feathers  of  cloud  ;  the  heather 
was  in  bloom  on  the  hills,  the  bogs  were  bronze 
and  green,  the  mountains  behind  them  were  as 
blue  as  grapes  ;  best  of  all,  the  C3.r  was  running 
like  a  saint,  floating  up  the  minor  hills,  pounding 

60 


The  Friend  of  Her  Youth 

unfalteringly  up  the  big  ones.  She  and  I  were 
still  in  the  honeymoon  stage,  and  her  most  normal 
virtues  were  to  me  miraculous ;  even  my  two 
ladies,  though,  like  their  sex,  grossly  utilitarian, 
and  incapable,  as  I  did  not  fail  to  assure  them, 
of  appreciating  the  poesy  of  mechanism,  were 
complimentary. 

In  that  part  of  Ireland  in  which  my  lot  is  cast 
signposts  do  not  exist.  The  residents,  very 
reasonably,  consider  them  to  be  superfluous,  even 
ridiculous,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  every  one 
knows  the  way,  and  as  for  strangers,  "haven't 
they  tongues  in  their  heads  as  well  as  another  "^  " 
It  all  tends  to  conversation  and  an  increased 
knowledge  of  human  nature.  Therefore  it  was 
that  when  we  had  descended  from  the  hills,  and 
found  ourselves  near  the  head  of  Dunerris  Bay, 
at  a  junction  of  three  roads,  any  one  of  which 
might  have  been  ours,  our  only  course  was  to 
pause  there  and  await  enlightenment. 

It  came,  plentifully,  borne  by  an  outside  car, 
and  bestowed  by  no  less  than  four  beautifully 
dressed  young  ladies.  I  alighted  and  approached 
the  outside  car,  and  was  instructed  by  the  driver 
as  to  the  route,  an  intricate  one,  to  Eyries  Harbour. 
The  young  ladies  offered  supplementary  sugges- 
tions ;  they  were  mysteriously  acquainted  with 
the  fact  that  the  Sheila  was  our  destination,  and 

6i 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

were  also  authorities  on  the  movements  of  that 
section  of  the  British  Navy  that  was  known  to 
the  family  of  Sub-Lieutenant  the  Hon.  Ronald 
Cunningham  as  **  Ronnie's  Flotilla." 

**  We  met  the  yacht  gentlemen  at  tea  on  Mr. 
Cunningham's  torpedo-boat  yesterday  afternoon," 
volunteered  the  prettiest  of  the  young  ladies,  with 
a  droop  of  her  eyelashes. 

The  party  then  laughed,  and  looked  at  each 
other,  as  those  do  who  have  together  heard  the 
chimes  at  midnight. 

"Why,  we're  going  to  lunch  with  them  to-day 
at  the  hotel  at  Ecclestown  !  And  with  you,  too !  " 
broke  in  another,  with  a  sudden  squeal  of  laughter. 

I  said  that  the  prospect  left  nothing  to  be 
desired. 

"Mr.  Chichester  invited  us  yesterday!"  put  in 
a  third  from  the  other  side  of  the  car. 

**  I  don't  think  it's  pollack  he'll  order  for 
luncheon,"  said  the  fourth  of  the  party  from  under 
the  driver's  elbow,  a  flapper,  with  a  slow,  hoarse 
voice,  and  a  heavy  cold  in  her  head. 

"  Shut  up,  Katty,  you  brat ! "  said  the  eldest, 
with  lightning  utterance. 

The  quartette  again  dissolved  into  laughter. 
I  said  "  Au  revoir,"  and  withdrew  to  report 
progress  to  my  deeply  interested  passengers. 

As  the  outside  car  disappeared  from  view  at  a 

62 


The  Friend  of  Her  Youth 

corner,  the  Flapper  waved  a  large  pocket-hand- 
kerchief to  me. 

"  You  seem  to  have  done  wonderfully  well  in 
the  time,"  said  Lady  Derryclare  kindly. 

For  half  an  hour  or  more  we  ran  west  along 
the  southern  shore  of  the  great  bay  ;  Ecclestown, 
where  Chichester's  luncheon-party  was  to  take 
place,  was  faintly  visible  on  the  further  side.  So 
sparkling  was  the  sea,  so  benign  the  breeze,  that 
even  I  looked  forward  without  anxiety,  almost 
with  enjoyment,  to  the  sail  across  the  bay. 

There  is  a  bland  and  peaceful  suggestion  about 
the  word  village  that  is  wholly  inapplicable  to  the 
village  of  Eyries,  a  collection  of  dismal,  slated 
cabins,  grouped  round  a  public-house,  like  a 
company  of  shabby  little  hens  round  a  shabby 
and  bedraggled  cock.  The  road  that  had  con- 
veyed us  to  this  place  of  entertainment  committed 
suicide  on  a  weedy  beach  below,  its  last  moments 
much  embittered  by  chaotic  heaps  of  timber, 
stones,  and  gravel.  A  paternal  Board  was  build- 
ing a  pier,  and  "mountains  of  gold  was  flying 
into  it,  but  the  divil  a  much  would  ever  come 
out  of  it." 

This  I  was  told  by  the  publican  as  I  bestowed 
the  car  in  an  outhouse  in  his  yard,  wherein, 
he  assured  me,  "  neither  chick  nor  child  would 
find  it." 

63 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

The  Sheila  was  anchored  near  the  mouth  of  the 
harbour ;  there  was  a  cheerful  air  of  expectancy 
about  her,  and  her  big  mainsail  was  hoisted ;  her 
punt,  propelled  by  Bill,  was  already  tripping  to- 
wards us  over  the  little  waves ;  the  air  was  salt, 
and  clean,  and  appetising.  Bill  appeared  to  be 
in  robust  health  ;  he  had  taken  on  a  good  many 
extra  tones  of  sunburn,  and  it  was  difficult,  on  a 
cursory  inspection,  to  decide  where  his  neck  ended 
and  his  brown  flannel  shirt  began. 

" Oh,   a  topping  time ! "    he  said,  as  we 

moved  out  over  the  green,  clear  water,  through 
which  glimmered  to  us  the  broken  pots  and  pans 
of  Eyries  that  lay  below.  '*  Any  amount  of  fish 
going.     We've  had  to  give  away  no  end." 

*'  I  should  like  to  hear  what  you've  been  giving 
Mr.  Chichester  to  eat?"  said  Lady  Derryclare 
suavely. 

**Well,  there  was  the  leg  of  mutton  that  we 
took  with  us ;  he  ate  that  pretty  well ;  and  a  sort 
of  a  hash  next  day,  fair  to  middling." 

"  And  after  that  ?  "  said  his  mother,  with  polite 
interest. 

*' Well,  after  that,"  said  Bill,  leaning  his  elbows 
on  his  sculls  and  ticking  off  the  items  on  his 
fingers,  "  we  had  boiled  pollack,  and  fried  pollack, 
and  pollack  rdchauff^  aux  fines  herbes — onions, 
you  know " 

64 


l^he  Friend  of  Her  Youth 

Bill  broke  off  artistically,  and  I  recalled  to 
myself  a  saying  of  an  American  sage,  **  Those 
that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  see  the  works 
of  the  Lord,  but  those  that  go  down  to  the  sea 
in  cutters  see  hell." 

**  He  went  ashore  yesterday,"  said  Bill,  re- 
suming his  narrative  and  the  sculls,  "and  came 
aboard  with  a  pig's  face  and  a  pot  of  jam  that  he 
got  at  the  pub,  and  I  say! — that  pig's  face! — 
Phew !     My  aunt ! " 

"  *  Look  in  my  face  ;  my  name  is  Might-have- 
been,'  "  quoted  Lady  Derryclare. 

Philippa  shuddered  aloud. 

**  But  he's  going  to  come  level  to-day,"  went  on 
Bill;  **he's  standing  us  all  lunch  at  the  Eccles- 
town  Hotel,  Ronnie's  skipper  and  all.  He  spent 
a  good  half-hour  writing  out  a  menu,  and  Ronnie 
took  it  over  last  night.  We  had  tea  on  board 
Ronnie's  ship,  you  know." 

We  said  we  knew  all  about  the  tea-party  and 
the  guests. 

"  Oh,  you  do,  do  you  ?"  said  Bill ;  '*  then  you 
know  a  good  deal !  Chichester  can  tell  you  a 
bit  more  about  the  dark  one  if  you  like  to  ask 
him!" 

"He  seems  to  have  outgrown  his  fancy  for 
fair  people,"  I  said. 

Philippa  put  her  nose  in  the  air. 

65  E 


In  Mr,  Knoxs  Country 

**  He's  gorgeously  dressed  for  the  occasion," 
continued  Bill. 

**  More  than  you  are !  "  said  his  mother. 

"  Oh,  my  one  don't  care.  No  more  does 
Ronnie's.     What  they  enjoyed  was  the  engine- 


room." 


**  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Lady  Derryclare  to 
Philippa,  "  that  we  are  rather  superfluous  to  this 
entertainment." 

Chichester  stood  at  the  gangway  and  helped 
the  ladies  on  to  the  narrow,  hog-backed  deck  of 
the  Sheila,  He  was  indeed  beautifully  dressed, 
but  to  the  critical  eye  it  seemed  that  the  spotless 
grey  flannel  suit  hung  a  shade  easier,  and  that  the 
line  of  his  cheek  was  less  freshly  rounded.  His 
nose  had  warmed  to  a  healthful  scarlet,  but  his  eye 
was  cold,  and  distinctly  bleak.  He  was  silent, 
not,  it  was  obvious  to  me,  because  he  had  nothing 
to  say,  but  because  he  might  have  more  to  say 
than  would  be  convenient.  In  all  senses  save 
the  literal  one  he  suggested  the  simple  phrase, 
**  Fed  up."  I  felt  for  him.  As  I  saw  the  grim 
deck-bosses  on  which  we  might  have  to  sit,  and 
the  dark  mouth  of  the  cabin  in  which  we  might 
have  to  eat,  and  tripped  over  a  rope,  and  grasped 
at  the  boom,  which  yielded  instead  of  supporting 
me,  I  thought  with  a  lover's  ardour  of  the  superi- 
ority— whether  as  means  of  progression  or  as  toy 

66 


The  Friend  of  Her  Touth 

— of  the  little  car,  tucked  away  in  the  Eyries 
publican's  back-yard,  where  neither  chick  nor  child 
would  find  her. 

**You  ought  to  have  come  with  us,  Yeates," 
said  Derryclare,  emerging  from  the  companion- 
hatch  with  a  fishing-line  in  his  hand.  "Great 
sport!  we  got  a  hundred  and  fifty  yesterday — 
beats  trout-fishing !     Doesn't  it,  Chichester  ?  " 

Chichester  smiled  sarcastically  and  looked  at 
his  watch. 

"Quite  right,"  said  his  lordship,  twisting  his 
huge  hairy  paw,  and  consulting  the  nickel  time- 
keeper on  his  wrist.  "  Time  to  be  off — mustn't 
keep  our  young  ladies  waiting.  We'll  slip  across 
in  no  time  with  this  nice  breeze.  Regular  ladies' 
day.  Now  then,  Bill!  get  that  fores'l  on  her — 
we'll  up  anchor  and  be  off! " 

There  are  few  places  in  creation  where  the 
onlooker  can  find  himself  more  painfully  and 
perpetually  de  trop  than  on  the  deck  of  a  small 
yacht.  I  followed  the  ladies  to  the  saloon. 
Chichester  remained  on  deck.  As  I  carefully 
descended  the  companion-ladder  I  saw  him  look- 
ing again  at  his  watch,  and  from  it  across  the  bay 
to  the  hazy  white  specks,  some  four  miles  away, 
in  one  of  which  assiduous  waiters  were  even  now, 
it  might  be,  setting  forth  the  repast  that  was  to 
indemnify  him  for  three  days  of  pollack. 

67 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

"  P'ff ;  I  wonder  if  they  ever  open  the  windows," 
said  Lady  Derryclare,  fitting  herself  skilfully 
into  the  revolving  chair  at  the  end  of  the  cabin 
table.  **  Do  sit  down — these  starting  operations 
are  always  lengthy." 

I  took  my  seat,  that  is  to  say,  I  began  to  sit 
down  in  the  air,  well  outside  the  flap  of  the  table, 
and  gradually  inserted  myself  underneath  it. 
The  bunch  of  flowers,  foretold  by  Lady  Derry- 
clare, confronted  us,  packed  suffocatingly  into  its 
vase,  and  even  the  least  astute  of  the  party  (I 
allude  to  myself)  was  able  unhesitatingly  to  place 
it  as  an  attention  from  the  fair  ones  of  the  outside 
car.  Behind  my  shoulders,  a  species  of  trough 
filled  the  interval  between  the  back  of  the  seat 
and  the  sloping  side  of  the  yacht;  in  it  lay 
old  tweed  caps,  old  sixpenny  magazines,  field- 
glasses,  cans  of  tobacco,  and  a  well-worn  box  of 
"Patience"  cards.  Above  and  behind  it  a  rack 
made  of  netting  was  darkly  charged  with  signal- 
flags,  fishing-rods,  and  minor  offal. 

*'  Think  of  them  all,  smoking  here  on  a  wet 
night,"  said  Lady  Derryclare  with  abhorrence  ; 
"with  the  windows  shut  and  no  shade  on  the 
lamp!  Let  nothing  tempt  any  of  you  to  open 
the  pantry  door;  we  might  see  the  pig's  face. 
Unfortunate  George  Chichester!" 

**  I  shouldn't  pity  him  too  much,"  said  L     "I 

68 


T^he  Friend  of  Her  Youth 

expect    he   wouldn't   take    five   pounds    for   his 
appetite  this  moment !  " 

The  rhythmic  creak  of  the  windlass  told  that 
the  anchor  was  coming  up.  It  continued  for 
some  moments,  and  then  stopped  abruptly. 

*'  Now  then,  all  together ! "  said  Lord  Derry- 
clare's  voice. 

A  pause,  punctuated  by  heavy  grunts  of  effort 
— then  Bill's  voice. 

*'What  the  blazes  is  holding  it?  Come  on, 
Chichester,  and  put  your  back  into  it ! " 

Chichester's  back,  ample  as  it  would  seem,  had 
no  appreciable  effect  on  the  situation. 

''You  ought  to  go  and  help  them,  Sinclair," 
said  my  wife,  with  that  readiness  to  offer  a  vicari- 
ous sacrifice  that  is  so  characteristic  of  wives. 

I  said  I  would  wait  till  I  was  asked.  I  had  not 
to  wait  long. 

I  took  my  turn  at  the  warm  handle-bar  of  the 
windlass,  and  grunted  and  strove  as  strenuously 
as  my  predecessors.  The  sun  poured  down  in 
undesired  geniality,  the  mainsail  lurched  and 
flapped ;  the  boom  tugged  at  its  tether ;  the 
water  jabbered  and  gurgled  past  the  bows. 

"I  think  we're  in  the  consommd!''  remarked 
Bill,  putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

*'  Here,"  said  Lord  Derryclare,  with  a  very  red 
face ;  "  confound  her !  we'll  sail  her  off  it !  " 

69 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

Chichester  sat  down  in  a  deck-chair  as  remote 
as  possible  from  his  kind,  and  once  again  con- 
sulted his  watch.  Bill  took  the  tiller  ;  ropes  were 
hauled,  slacked,  made  fast ;  the  boom  awoke  to 
devastating  life ;  the  Sheila  swung,  tilted  over  to 
the  breeze,  and  made  a  rush  for  freedom.  The 
rush  ended  in  a  jerk,  the  anchor  remained  im- 
movable, and  the  process  was  repeated  in  the 
opposite  direction,  with  a  vigour  that  restored 
Chichester  abruptly  to  the  bosom  of  society — in 
point  of  fact,  my  bosom.  He  said  nothing,  or 
at  least  nothing  to  signify,  as  I  assisted  him  to 
rise,  but  I  felt  as  if  I  were  handling  a  live  shell. 

During  the  succeeding  quarter  of  an  hour  the 
Sheila^  so  it  seemed  to  my  untutored  mind,  con- 
tinued to  sail  in  tangents  towards  all  the  points 
of  the  compass,  and  at  the  end  of  each  tangent 
was  brought  up  with  an  uncompromising  negative 
from  the  anchor.  By  that  time  my  invariable 
yacht -headache  was  established,  and  all  the  other 
men  in  the  ship  were  advancing,  at  a  varying  rate 
of  progress,  into  a  frame  of  mind  that  precluded 
human  intercourse,  and  was  entirely  removed  from 
perceiving  any  humour  in  the  situation. 

Through  all  these  affairs  the  sound  of  conver- 
sation ascended  steadily  through  the  main-hatch. 
Lady  Derryclare  and  my  wife  were  playing 
Patience  in  the  cabin,  and  were  at  the  same  time 

70 


T^he  Friend  of  Her  Youth 

discussing  intricate  matters  in  connection  with 
District  Nurses,  with  that  strange  power  of  doing 
one  thing  and  talking  about  another  that  I  have 
often  noticed  in  women.  It  was  at  about  this 
period  that  the  small,  rat-like  head  of  Bill's 
kitchen-maid,  Jimmy,  appeared  at  the  fore-hatch 
(accompanied  by  a  reek  of  such  potency  that 
I  immediately  assigned  it  to  the  pig's  face), 
and  made  the  suggestion  about  the  Congested 
Diver.  That  the  Diver,  however  congested,  was 
a  public  official,  engaged  at  the  moment  in  laying 
the  foundations  of  the  Eyries  Pier,  did  not,  this 
being  Ireland,  complicate  the  situation.  The 
punt,  with  Bill,  hot  and  taciturn,  in  the  stern, 
sprang  forth  on  her  errand,  smashing  and  bounc- 
ing through  the  sharpened  edges  of  the  little 
waves.  As  I  faced  that  dainty  and  appetising 
breeze,  I  felt  the  first  pang  of  the  same  hunger 
that  was,  I  knew,  already  gnawing  Chichester 
like  a  wolf. 

**  We  must  have  fouled  some  old  moorings," 
said  Derryclare,  coming  up  from  the  cabin,  with 
a  large  slice  of  bread  and  honey  in  his  hand,  and 
an  equanimity  somewhat  restored  by  a  working 
solution  of  the  problem.  **  Damn  nuisance,  but 
it  can't  be  helped.  Better  get  something  to  eat, 
Chichester ;  you  won't  get  to  Ecclestown  before 
three  o'clock  at  the  best." 

71 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Chichester,  without 
raising  his  eyes  from  the  four-day-old  paper  that 
he  was  affecting  to  read. 

I  strolled  discreetly  away,  and  again  looked 
down  through  the  skylight  into  the  cabin.  The 
ladies  were  no  longer  there,  and,  in  defiance  of 
all  nautical  regulations,  a  spirit-lamp  with  a  kettle 
upon  it  was  burning  on  the  table,  a  sufficient 
indication  to  a  person  of  my  experience  that 
Philippa  and  Lady  Derryclare  had  abandoned 
hope  of  the  Ecclestown  lunch  and  were  making 
tea.  The  prospect  of  something  to  eat,  of  any 
description,  was  not  unpleasing ;  in  the  meantime 
I  took  the  field-glasses,  and  went  forward  to 
follow,  pessimistically,  the  progress  of  the  punt  in 
its  search  for  the  Diver. 

There  was  no  one  on  the  pier.  Bill  landed, 
went  up  the  beach,  and  was  lost  to  sight  in  the 
yard  of  the  public-house. 

*'  It  must  be  he's  at  his  dinner,"  said  Jimmy 
at  my  elbow,  descrying  these  movements  with  a 
vision  that  appeared  to  be  equal  to  mine  plus 
the  field-glasses.  There  was  an  interval,  during 
which  I  transferred  my  attention  to  Ecclestown ; 
its  white  hotel  basked  in  sunshine,  settled  and 
balmy,  as  of  the  land  of  Beulah.  Its  comfortable 
aspect  suggested  roast  chicken,  tingling  glasses 
of  beer,  even  of  champagne.     A  torpedo-boat, 

72 


Tihe  Friend  of  Her  Youth 

with  a  thread  of  smoke  coming  quietly  from  its 
foremost  funnel,  lay  in  front  of  the  hotel.  It 
seemed  as  though  it  were  enjoying  an  after- 
luncheon  cigarette. 

**  They're  coming  out  now !  "  said  Jimmy,  with 
excitement ;  *'  it  must  be  they  were  within  in  the 
house  looking  at  the  motor." 

I  turned  the  field-glasses  on  Eyries ;  a  fair 
proportion  of  its  population  was  emerging  from 
the  yard  of  the  public-house,  and  the  length  to 
which  their  scientific  interest  had  carried  them 
formed  a  pleasing  subject  for  meditation. 

"  There's  the  ha'past-one  mail-car  coming  in," 
said  Jimmy;  **  it's  likely  he'll  wait  for  the  letters 
now." 

The  mirage  of  the  Ecclestown  lunch  here 
melted  away,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  and 
with  a  resignation  perfected  in  many  Petty  Ses- 
sions courts,  I  turned  my  appetite  to  humbler 
issues.  To  those  who  have  breakfasted  at  eight, 
and  have  motored  over  thirty  miles  of  moor- 
land, tea  and  sardines  at  two  o'clock  are  a 
mere  affair  of  outposts,  that  leave  the  heart  of 
the  position  untouched.  Yet  a  temporary  glow 
of  achievement  may  be  attained  by  their  means, 
and  the  news  brought  back  by  Bill,  coupled 
with  a  fresh  loaf,  that  the  Diver  was  coming 
at  once,  flattered  the  hope  that  the  game  was 

73 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

still  alive.  Bill  had  also  brought  a  telegram  for 
Chichester. 

*'  Who  has  the  nerve  to  tell  Mr.  Chichester  that 
there's  something  to  eat  here  ?  "  said  Lady  Derry- 
clare,  minutely  examining  the  butter. 

"Philippa  is  obviously  indicated,"  I  said  ma- 
lignly.    **  She  is  the  Friend  of  his  Youth !  " 

"  You're  all  odious,"  said  Philippa,  sliding  from 
beneath  the  flap  of  the  table  with  the  light  of  the 
lion-tamer  in  her  eye. 

What  transpired  between  her  and  the  lion  we 
shall  never  know.  She  returned  almost  immedi- 
ately, with  a  heightened  colour,  and  the  irrelevant 
information  that  the  Diver  had  come  on  board. 
The  news  had  the  lifting  power  of  a  high 
explosive.  We  burst  from  the  cabin  and  went 
on  deck  as  one  man,  with  the  exception  of  my 
wife,  who,  with  a  forethought  that  did  her  credit, 
turned  back  to  improvise  a  cosy  for  the  teapot 

The  Diver  was  a  large  person,  of  few  words, 
with  a  lowering  brow  and  a  heavy  moustache. 
He  did  not  minimise  the  greatness  of  his  con- 
descension in  coming  aboard  the  yacht;  he  lis- 
tened gloomily  to  the  explanations  of  Lord  Derry- 
clare.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  narrative  he 
moved  in  silence  to  the  bows  and  surveyed  the 
situation.  His  boat,  containing  the  apparatus  of 
his  trade,  was  alongside;    a  stalwart  underling, 

74 


l^he  Friend  of  Her  Youth 

clad  in  a  brown  jersey,  sat  in  the  bows ;  in  the 
stern  was  enthroned  the  helmet,  goggling  upon 
us  like  a  decapitated  motorist.  It  imparted  a 
thrill  that  I  had  not  experienced  since  I  read 
Jules  Verne  at  school. 

*'  Here,  Jeremiah,"  said  the  Diver. 

The  satellite  came  on  deck  with  the  single 
sinuous  movement  of  a  salmon. 

The  Diver  motioned  him  to  the  windlass. 
**  We'll  take  a  turn  at  this  first,"  he  said. 

They  took  each  a  handle,  they  bent  to  their 
task,  and  the  anchor  rose  at  their  summons  like 
a  hot  knife  out  of  butter. 

Every  man  present,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Diver  and  the  satellite,  made  the  simple  declara- 
tion that  he  was  damned,  and  it  was  in  the  period 
of  paralysis  following  on  this  that  a  fresh  ingre- 
dient was  added  to  the  situation. 

A  giant  voice  filled  the  air,  and  in  a  windy 
bellow  came  the  words : 

**Nice  lot  you  are!" 

We  faced  about  and  saw  "  Ronnie's  torpedo- 
boat  "  executing  a  sweeping  curve  in  the  mouth 
of  Eyries  Harbour. 

** Couldn't  wait  any  longer!"  proceeded  the 
voice  of  the  Megaphone.  "We've  got  to  pick 
up  the  others  outside.  Thanks  awfully  for 
luncheon !     Top-hole  !  " 

75 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

T.B.  No.  looo  completed  the  curve  and  headed 
for  the  open  sea  with  a  white  mane  of  water 
rising  above  her  bows.  There  was  something 
else  white  fluttering  at  the  stern.  I  put  up  the 
field-glasses,  and  with  their  aid  perceived  upon 
the  deck  a  party  of  four  ladies,  one  of  whom  was 
waving  a  large  pocket  handkerchief.  The  glasses 
were  here  taken  out  of  my  hand  by  Chichester, 
but  not  before  I  had  identified  the  Flapper. 

What  Chichester  said  of  Ronnie  was  heard 
only  by  me,  and  possibly  by  Jimmy,  who  did 
not  count.  I  think  it  may  have  saved  his  life, 
being  akin  to  opening  a  vein.  That  I  was  the 
sole  recipient  of  these  confidences  was  perhaps 
due  to  the  fact  that  the  Sheila,  so  swifdy  and 
amazingly  untethered,  here  began  to  fall  away 
to  leeward,  with  all  the  wilful  helplessness  of  her 
kind,  and  instant  and  general  confusion  was  the 
result.  There  were  a  few  moments  during  which 
ropes,  spars,  and  human  beings  pursued  me  wher- 
ever I  went.  Then  I  heard  Lord  Derryclare's 
voice — "  Let  go  that  anchor  again  !  " 

The  sliding  rattle  of  the  chain  followed,  the 
anchor  plunged  ;  the  status  quo  was  re-established. 

Chichester  went  ashore  with  the  Diver  to  catch 
the  outgoing  mail-car.  The  telegram  that  had 
arrived  with  Bill  was  brought  into  action  flag- 
rantly, and  was  as  flagrantly  accepted.     (It  was 

76 


The  Friend  of  Her  Youth 

found,  subsequently,  on  his  cabin  floor,  and  was 
to  the  effect  that  the  cartridges  had  been  for- 
warded as  directed.)  The  farewells  were  made, 
the  parting  regrets  very  creditably  accomplished, 
and  we  stood  on  the  deck  and  saw  him  go,  with 
his  suit-case,  his  rods,  his  gun-case,  heaped  im- 
posingly in  the  bow,  his  rug,  and  his  coats,  the 
greater  and  the  less,  piled  beside  him  in  the 
stern. 

The  wind  had  freshened ;  the  Diver  and  Jere- 
miah drove  the  boat  into  it  with  a  will,  and  the 
heavy  oars  struck  spray  off  the  crests  of  the 
waves.  We  saw  Chichester  draw  forth  the 
greater  coat,  and  stand  up  and  put  it  on.  The 
boat  lurched,  and  he  sat  down  abruptly,  only  to 
start  to  his  feet  again  as  if  he  had  been  stung  by 
a  wasp.  He  thrust  his  hand  into  the  pocket,  and 
Philippa  clutched  my  arm. 

**  Could  it  have  been  into  the  pocket  of  his 
coat  that  I  put  the  teapot ?"  she  breathed. 


77 


IV 

HARRINGTON'S 

Breakfast  was  over ;  Philippa  was  feeding  the 
dogs.  Philippa's  cousin,  Captain  Andrew  Larpent, 
R.E.,  was  looking  out  of  the  window  with  that 
air  of  unemployment  that  touches  the  conscience 
of  a  host  like  a  spur.  Andrew  did  not  smoke, 
a  serious  matter  in  a  male  guest,  which  means 
that  there  are,  for  him,  no  moments  of  lethargy, 
and  that,  when  he  idles,  his  idleness  stands  stark 
in  the  foreground  against  a  clear  sky,  a  reproach 
and  a  menace  to  his  entertainers. 

It  was  a  cold  day  about  the  middle  of  September, 
and  there  was  an  unrest  among  the  trees  that 
commemorated  a  night  of  storm  ;  the  gravel  was 
wet,  the  lawn-tennis  ground  was  strewn  with 
sycamore  leaves. 

**  I  suppose  you'll  say  I'm  drunk,"  said  Andrew, 
**but  the  fact  remains  that  I  see  two  Natives 
coming  up  the  drive." 

In  the  green  tunnel  that  was  the  avenue  at 
Shreelane  were  two  dark  figures ;  both  were 
dressed  in  frock-coats,  of  which  the  tails  fluttered 
meagrely  in  the  wind  ;  their  faces  were  black ; 

78 


Harringtons 

with  the  half-hearted  blackness  of  a  leg  in  a  black 
silk  stocking  ;  one  of  them  wore  a  tall  hat. 

"  This  is  what  comes  of  leaving  Calcutta  with- 
out paying  your  bills,"  I  suggested  ;  "  or  perhaps 
it's  a  Missionary  Deputation " 

The  Natives  advanced  into  the  middle  distance. 

**  It's  the  Sweep  ! "  exclaimed  Philippa.  "  It's 
my  beloved  Cantillon  !  " 

She  flung  open  the  window. 

**  Oh,  Cantillon ! "  she  cried,  invoking  the 
gentleman  in  the  top-hat  as  if  he  were  an  idol, 
**  I've  been  longing  to  see  you  !  " 

The  leading  Native  halted  beneath  the  window 
and  curtseyed. 

**  I  partly  guessed  it,  my  Lady ! "  he  replied 
modestly,  and  curtseyed  again. 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  come  before  }  "  screamed 
Philippa,  suppressing  with  difficulty  the  indigna- 
tion of  the  dogs. 

"  I  had  the  toothache,  my  Lady,  and  a  howlt 
in  my  poll,"  returned  the  sweep,  in  dignified 
narrative.  "  I  may  say  my  hands  was  crackin'  with 
the  stren'th  of  pain,  and  these  four  days  back 
there  was  the  rumour  of  passpiration  all  over  me, 
with  respex  to  ye " 

"I'll  see  you  in  the  kitchen,"  said  Philippa, 
shutting  the  window  abruptly.  **  My  poor 
friends,"   she    continued,     **this    means    a   cold 

79 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

luncheon  for  you,  and  a  still  colder  reception  for 
me  from  Mrs.  Cadogan,  but  if  I  let  Cantillon 
escape  me  now,  I  may  never  see  him  again — 
which  is  unthinkable  !  " 

I  presume  that  white  is  the  complimentary 
colour  of  a  sweep.  In  half  an  hour  after  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Cantillon  the  sitting-rooms  were 
snowed  over  with  sheets,  covering  alike  floor  and 
furniture,  while  he  and  his  disciple  moved  from 
room  to  room  on  tiptoe,  with  ostentatious  humility, 
leaving  a  round  black  spoor  upon  the  snow.  My 
writing-table  was  inaccessible,  so  also  was  the  piano, 
which  could  usually  be  trusted  to  keep  Andrew 
quiet  for  an  hour  of  the  morning.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  more  accurate  to  say  it  kept  him 
occupied.  Captain  Larpent  had  not  been  many 
years  in  the  service  of  his  country,  yet  it  was 
already  told  of  him  that  **  From  Birr  to  Bareilly," 
undeterred  by  hardships,  his  intrepid  piano  had 
accompanied  him,  and  that  house-rents  fell  to 
zero  within  a  half-mile  radius  of  his  vicinity. 
Daily  the  walls  of  Shreelane  shook  to  the  thunder 
of  his  practising ;  nightly  his  duets  with  my  wife 
roared  like  a  torrent  over  my  sleeping  head. 
Sometimes,  also,  he  sang,  chiefly  in  German  (a 
language  I  do  not  understand),  and  with  what 
seemed  to  me  superfluous  energy.  But  this,  I 
am  told,  means  "  temperament." 

80 


Harrington's 

Haunting  as  a  waltz  refrain  the  flavour  of  soot 
stole  through  the  menu  at  dinner;  it  was 
whispered  in  the  soup,  it  was  muttered  in  the 
savoury,  and  in  the  coffee  it  abandoned  subter- 
fuge and  shouted  down  all  opposition.  Next 
morning,  at  breakfast,  Philippa  asked  if  the  car 
wanted  exercise,  because  it  seemed  to  her  a  day- 
marked  out  by  Providence  for  calling  on  the 
Chicken  Farmers.  We  might  start  early,  take 
sandwiches,  show  Andrew  something  of  the 
country — the  programme  was  impulsively  sketched 
in,  but  none  the  less  I  divined  that  an  indignant 
household  had  demanded  a  day  of  atonement  in 
which  to  obliterate  the  memory  of  the  sweep. 

It  was,  as  well  as  I  remember,  in  the  preceding 
spring  that  the  Chicken  Farmers  had  come  before 
the  swallow  dared,  and  had  taken — in  addition  to 
the  winds  of  March — ^a  small  farm  about  midway 
in  the  wilderness  between  us  and  the  Derryclares. 
They  were  two  young  women  who  had  recently 
been  commended  to  our  special  attention  by 
Lady  Derryclare  ;  they  were,  she  said.  Pioneers, 
and  were  going  to  make  their  fortunes,  and 
would  incidentally  set  an  example  to  the  dis- 
trict. Philippa  had  met  them  on  the  Derryclares 
yacht. 

**  One  of  them  is  very  pretty,"  she  explained 
to  Andrew,  **  and  the  other  is  a  doctor." 

8i  F 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

**  I  wonder  which  of  them  does  most  damage  ?  " 
said  Andrew.     **  I  think  I'll  stay  at  home." 

None  the  less  he  came. 

It  was  not  until  the  car  was  at  the  door  that  I 
found  we  were  to  be  favoured  with  the  society  of 
my  eldest  son,  Anthony,  in  consequence  of  the 
facts  that  (i)  the  day  before  had  been  his  ninth 
birthday,  (2)  that  he  had  not  cried  when  he  met 
the  sweep  in  the  passage,  and  (3)  that  for  lack 
of  the  kitchen  fire  he  had  had  no  birthday  cake. 
Minx,  also,  was  one  of  us,  but  as  she  came  as 
a  stowaway,  this  did  not  transpire  till  later,  when 
explanations  were  superfluous. 

It  was  at  the  moment  of  departure  that  I 
perceived  a  donkey-cart,  modestly  screening  it- 
self behind  the  evergreens  on  the  way  to  the 
yard,  and  one  of  Flurry  Knox's  men  approached 
me  with  Mr.  Knox's  compliments,  and  would  I 
lend  him  the  loan  of  the  long  ladder  ?  Some  two 
years  ago,  in  a  moment  of  weakness,  I  had  pro- 
vided myself  with  a  ladder  wherewith  to  attain 
to  the  eaveshoots  of  Shreelane,  since  when  I  had 
found  myself  in  the  undesired  position  of  public 
benefactor.  How  life  without  a  long  ladder  had 
hitherto  been  possible  for  my  neighbours  I  was 
at  a  loss  to  imagine,  and  as  I  was  also  at  a  loss 
for  any  valid  excuse  for  refusing  to  lend  it,  the 
ladder  enjoyed  a  butterfly  existence  of  country- 

82 


Harrington's 

house  visiting.  Its  visits  to  Mr.  Knox  had  been 
especially  lengthy  and  debilitating.  It  is,  as 
Mrs.  Cadogan  is  wont  to  say,  the  last  straw  that 
puts  the  hump  on  the  camel.  The  blood  sud- 
denly mounted  to  my  brain,  and  with  it  came 
inspiration. 

**You  can  tell  Mr.  Knox  that  the  eaveshoots 
of  this  house  are  leaking  like  sieves,  and  I  want 
the  ladder  myself." 

In  the  glow  of  satisfaction  kindled  by  the 
delivery  of  this  message  I  started  the  caravan. 
The  western  breeze  fanned  my  brow  agreeably, 
the  car  purred  her  satisfaction  with  our  new  and 
only  stretch  of  steam-rolled  road,  and  Anthony 
was  still  in  the  condition  of  Being  Good  (a  con- 
dition, nevertheless,  by  no  means  to  be  relied  on, 
and  quite  distinct  from  Goodness). 

We  ran  west,  we  ran  north ;  we  skirted  grey 
and  sounding  bays  of  the  Atlantic ;  we  climbed 
high  among  heathery,  stone-besprinkled  moors; 
we  lunched  by  the  roadside  in  the  lee  of  a  rick 
of  turf,  and  Anthony,  by  this  time  emerging  from 
the  condition  of  Being  Good,  broke  the  Thermos, 
and  flashed  his  birthday  electric  torch  in  Minx's 
face  until  she  very  properly  bit  him,  and  Philippa 
slurred  over  the  incident  with  impartial  chocolate, 
and  said  it  was  time  to  start. 

The  region  in  which  the  Chicken  Farmers  had 

83 


In  Mr,  Knoxs  Country 

established  themselves  suggested  the  nurture  of 
snipe  and  sea-gulls  rather  than  chickens.  It  was 
an  indeterminate  patchwork  of  stony  knobs  of  hill 
and  pockets  of  bog,  among  which  the  road  humped 
and  sagged,  accepting  pessimistically  the  facts  of 
nature.  Hardy,  noisy  hill-streams  scurried  beside 
it,  or  over  it,  as  seemed  good  to  them ;  finally  a 
sharp  turn,  a  high  horizon  of  sea,  and  a  steep 
down-hill  grade,  ending  on  the  shore  of  a  small, 
round  lake.  There  was  a  little  pink  box  of  a 
house  on  its  farther  side,  with  a  few  bunches  of 
trees  round  it,  and  among  them  a  pigmy  village 
of  prim  wooden  huts. 

"That's  the  place,"  said  Philippa,  who  had 
been  there  with  Lady  Derryclare.  "And  those 
are  the  last  cry  in  hen-houses.  Now  remember, 
both  of  you,  one  of  them  is  a  doctor,  Scotch,  and 
a  theosophist,  or  something  mysterious  of  that 
sort;  and  the  pretty  one  was  engaged  to  a 
gunner  and  it  was  broken  off — why,  I  don't 
know — drink,  I  fancy,  or  mad — so  you  had 
better  be  careful " 

**  I  shall  be  guarded  in  my  condolences,"  I 
said,  turning  in  at  the  little  gate,  with  the 
sensation  of  being  forcibly  fed. 

**As  far  as  one  can  gather,"  said  Andrew, 
"  there    remains   no    topic   in    heaven   or   earth 

that " 

84 


Harrington's 

"  Music  and  poultry,"  said  Phillppa  In  a  breath, 
as  I  drew  up  at  the  hall  door. 

Andrew  rang  the  bell,  and  a  flock  of  white 
ducks  hurried  up  from  among  the  trees  and 
gathered  round  him  with  loud  cries  of  welcome. 
There  was  no  other  reply  to  his  summons,  and  at 
the  second  essay  the  bell-wire  came  out  by  the 
roots  with  generous  completeness. 

**  The  ladles  Is  gone  to  th'  oxtlon ! "  cried  a 
voice  from  among  the  hen-coops,  and  the  ducks 
lifted  up  their  voices  in  ardent  reply. 

"Where  is  the  auction?"  Phillppa  called, 
when  a  comparative  silence  had  fallen. 

**  In  Harrington's,  beyond  at  the  Mines ! " 
replied  the  oracle,  on  a  well-sustained  high  G. 

"  Put  the  cards  on  the  hall  table,"  said  Phillppa, 
**we  might  go  back  that  way." 

Several  things  combine  in  the  spell  that  an 
auction  casts  upon  my  wife,  as  upon  many  others 
of  her  sex ;  the  gamble,  the  competition,  the 
lure  of  the  second-hand,  the  thrill  of  possible 
treasure-trove.  We  proceeded  along  the  coast 
road  towards  the  mines,  and  I  could  hear  Phillppa 
expounding  to  her  first-born  the  nature  and 
functions  of  auctions,  even  as  the  maternal  carni- 
vore instructs  her  young  in  the  art  of  slaughter. 
The  road  with  which  we  were  now  dealing  ran, 
or,  it  would  be  more  accurate  to  say,   walked, 

8S 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

across  the  stony  laps  of  the  hills.  The  cliffs 
were  on  our  right ;  the  sea  was  still  flustered 
after  the  storm,  like  a  dog  that  has  fought  and 
is  ready  to  fight  again.  We  toiled  over  the 
shoulder  of  a  headland,  and  there  caught  sight 
of  "  Harrington's." 

On  a  green  plateau,  high  above  the  sea,  were 
a  couple  of  iron  sheds  and  a  small  squat  tower ; 
landward  of  them  was  a  square  and  hideous 
house,  of  the  type  that  springs  up,  as  if  inevit- 
ably, in  the  neighbourhood  of  mines,  which  are, 
in  themselves,  among  the  most  hideous  works 
of  man.  One  of  the  sheds  had  but  half  a  roof ; 
a  truck  lay  on  its  side  in  a  pool  of  water ;  defeat 
was  written  starkly  over  all. 

**  Copper,  and  precious  little  of  it,"  I  explained 
to  Andrew ;  "  and  they  got  some  gold  too — 
just  enough  to  go  to  their  heads,  and  ruin 
them." 

"  Did  they  put  it  in  their  mouths — where  you 
have  it.  Father?"  enquired  Anthony,  who  was 
hanging  on  my  words  and  on  the  back  of  my 
seat. 

**  Suppose  you  shut  yours,"  I  replied,  with 
the  brutality  that  is  the  only  effective  defence 
against  the  frontal  attacks  of  the  young. 

We  found  the  yard  at  Harrington's  thronged 
with  a  shabby  company  of  carts,  cars,  and  traps 

86 


Harrington  s 

of  many  varieties ;  donkey-carts  had  made  their 
own  of  the  road  outside,  even  the  small  circle 
of  gravel  in  front  of  the  hall  door  was  bordered 
by  bicycles  ;  apparently  an  auction  was  a  fashion- 
able function  in  the  region  of  the  Lug-na-Coppal 
copper-mines.  Dingy  backs  bulged  from  the 
open  door  of  the  hall,  and  over  their  heads  as 
we  arrived  floated  the  voice  of  the  auctioneer, 
demanding  in  tragic  incredulity  if  people  thought 
his  conscience  would  permit  him  to  let  an 
aneroid  barometer  go  for  half-a-crown.  With- 
out a  word  Philippa  inserted  herself  between  the 
backs,  followed  by  her  son,  and  was  lost  to  view. 

"  Thank  you,  madam ! "  said  the  voice,  with 
a  new  note  of  cheer  in  it.  ''Five  shillings  I  am 
bid !     Any  advance  on  five  shillings  ?  " 

**  That's  a  good  weather-glass ! "  hissed  a 
farmer's  daughter  with  a  plumed  hat,  to  a  friend 
with  a  black  shawl  over  her  head.  '*  An  I 
coming  into  the  house  to-day  I  gave  it  a  puck, 
and  it  knocked  a  lep  out  o'  the  needle.  It's  in 
grand  working  order." 

**  I'm  told  it  was  the  last  thing  in  the  house 
poor  Mr.  Harrington  left  a  hand  on,  the  day  he 
made  away  with  himself,  the  Lord  save  us ! " 
remarked  a  large  matron,  casually,  to  Andrew 
and  me. 

"  I  thought  the  Coroner's  Jury  found  that  he 
87 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

fell  down  the  shaft?"  I  returned,  accepting  the 
conversational  opening  in  the  spirit  in  which  it 
was  offered. 

The  matron  winked  at  me  with  a  mixture  of 
compassion  and  confederacy. 

*'Ah,  the  poor  fellow  was  insured,  and  the 
jury  were  decent  men,  they  wouldn't  wish  to 
have  anything  said  that  'd  put  the  wife  out  of  the 
money." 

**  The  right  men  in  the  right  place,  evidently," 
said  Andrew,  who  rather  fancies  his  dry  humour. 
"  But  apart  from  the  climate  and  the  architecture, 
was  there  any  reason  for  suicide  ?  " 

"  I'm  told  he  was  a  little  annoyed,"  said  an 
enormous  old  farmer,  delicately. 

"It  was  the  weather  preyed  on  him,"  said  the 
matron.  **  There  was  a  vessel  was  coming  round 
to  him  with  coal  and  all  sorts,  weather-bound  she 
was,  in  Kinsale,  and  in  the  latther  end  she  met 
a  rock,  and  she  went  down  in  a  lump,  and  his 
own  brother  that  was  in  her  was  drownded." 

"  There  were  grounds  for  annoyance,  I  admit," 
said  Andrew. 

The  big  farmer,  who  had,  perhaps,  been  one 
of  the  jury,  remarked  non-committally  that  he 
wouldn't  say  much  for  the  weather  we  were 
getting  now,  and  there  was  one  of  them  planets 
was  after  the  moon  always. 

88 


Harrington's 

We  moved  on  to  the  yard,  in  which  prospec- 
tive buyers  were  prowling  among  wheelbarrows, 
coils  of  rope,  ladders,  and  the  various  rubbish 
proper  to  such  scenes,  and  Andrew  discoursed 
of  the  accessories  that  would  be  needed  for  the 
repair  of  my  eaveshoots,  with  the  large-minded- 
ness  of  the  Government  official  who  has  his  own 
spurs  and  another  man's  horse.  He  was  in  the 
act  of  assuring  me  that  I  should  save  half  a  man's 
wages  by  having  a  second  long  ladder,  when 
some  one  in  the  house  began  to  play  on  a  piano, 
with  knowledge  and  vigour.  The  effect  on 
Captain  Larpent  was  as  when  a  hound,  outside 
a  covert,  hears  the  voice  of  a  comrade  within. 
The  room  from  which  the  music  came  was  on 
the  ground  floor,  the  back  door  was  open,  and 
Andrew  walked  in. 

"  That  is  one  of  those  young  ladies  who  have 
come  here  to  make  their  fortunes  with  poultry," 
observed  a  melancholy-looking  clergyman  at  my 
elbow,  **  Miss  Longmuir,  I  expect ;  she  is  the 
musician.  Her  friend.  Dr.  Catherine  Fraser,  is 
here  also.  Wonderful  young  ladies — no  wish 
for  society.  I  begged  them  to  come  and  live 
near  my  church — I  offered  them  a  spare  corner 
of  the  churchyard  for  their  hen-coops — all  of  no 
avail." 

I  said  that  they  seemed  hard  to  please. 
89 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

**  Very,  very,"  assented  the  clergyman  ;  **  yet  I 
assure  you  there  is  nothing  cynical  about  them. 
They  are  merely  recloozes." 

He  sighed,  on  what  seemed  to  be  general 
grounds,  and  moved  away. 

I  followed  Andrew  into  the  house  and  found 
myself  in  the  kitchen.  The  unspeakable  dreari- 
ness of  an  auction  was  upon  it.  Pagodas  of 
various  crockeries  stood  high  on  the  tables,  and 
on  benches  round  the  walls  sat,  rook-like,  an 
assembly  of  hooded  countrywomen.  A  man 
with  a  dingy  pale  face  was  standing  in  front  of 
the  cold  fireplace,  addressing  the  company.  On 
my  arrival  he  removed  his  hat  with  stately  grace, 
and  with  an  effort  I  recognised  Cantillon  the 
sweep,  in  mufti — that  is  to  say,  minus  some  of 
his  usual  top-dressing  of  soot. 

"  It's  what  I  was  saying.  Major  Yeates,"  he 
resumed.  "I'm  sweeping  those  chimneys  thirty 
years,  and  five  managers  I  seen  in  this  house, 
and  there  wasn't  one  o'  them  that  got  the  price 
of  their  ticket  to  Cork  out  o'  that  mine.  This 
poor  man  was  as  well-liked  as  anyone  in  the 
world,  but  there  was  a  covey  of  blagyards  in 
It  that'd  rob  St.  Pether,  let  alone  poor  Mr. 
Harrington ! " 

The  company  assented  with  a  groan  of  general 
application,  and  the  ensuing  pause  was  filled  by 

90 


Harrington's 

the  piano  in  the  next  room,  large  and  heavy 
chords,  suggestive  of  the  hand  of  Andrew. 

"  God  !  Mrs.  Harrington  was  a  fine  woman  !  " 
croaked  one  of  the  rooks  on  the  bench. 

**She  was,  and  very  stylish,"  answered  an- 
other.    "  Oh,  surely  she  was  a  crown  !  " 

**  And  very  plain,"  put  in  a  third,  taking  up 
the  encomium  like  a  part  in  a  fugue,  "  as  plain 
as  the  grass  on  the  hills !  " 

I  moved  on,  and  met  my  wife  in  a  crowd  at 
the  door  of  the  dining-room,  and  in  an  atmos- 
phere which  I  prefer  not  to  characterise. 

"  Tve  got  the  barometer ! "  she  said  breath- 
lessly. "  No  one  bid  for  it,  and  I  got  it  for  five 
shillings !  A  lovely  old  one.  It's  been  in  the 
house  for  at  least  fifty  years,  handed  on  from  one 
manager  to  another." 

**  It  doesn't  seem  to  have  brought  them  luck," 
I  said.  *'  What  have  you  done  with  Anthony  ? 
Lost  him,  I  hope  ! " 

*'  There  have  been  moments  when  I  could  have 
spared  him,"  Philippa  admitted,  "  especially 
when  it  came  to  his  bidding  against  me,  from  the 
heart  of  the  crowd,  for  a  brass  tea-kettle,  and 
running  the  price  up  to  the  skies  before  I  dis- 
covered him.  Then  I  found  him  upstairs,  auction- 
ing a  nauseous  old  tail  of  false  hair,  amidst  the 
yells  of  country  girls  ;  and  finally  he  tried  to  drop 

91 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

out  of  the  staircase  window — ten  feet  at  least — 
with  a  stolen  basket  of  tools  round  his  neck.  I 
just  saw  his  hands  on  the  edge  of  the  window- 
sill." 

**  I  think  it's  time  to  go  home,"  I  said  grimly. 

**  Darling,  not  till  I've  bought  the  copper  coal- 
scuttle.    Come  and  look  at  it !  " 

I  followed  her,  uttering  the  impotent  growls  of 
a  husband.  As  we  approachedithe  drawing-room 
the  music  broke  forth  again,  this  time  in  power. 
Three  broad  countrywomen,  in  black  hooded 
cloaks  and  brown  kid  gloves,  were  seated  on  a 
sofa ;  two  deeply-engrossed  backs  at  the  piano 
accounted  for  the  music.  There  is  no  denying 
the  fact  that  a  piano  duet  has  some  inescapable 
association  with  the  schoolroom,  no  matter  how 
dashing  the  execution,  how  superior  the  per- 
formers. 

"  Poor  old  *Semiramide ' !  "  whispered  Philippa ; 
"  I  played  that  overture  when  I  was  twelve ! " 
Over  her  shoulder  I  had  a  view  of  Andrew's 
sleek  black  poll  and  brown  neck,  and  an  impres- 
sion of  fluffy  hair,  and  a  slight  and  shapely  back 
in  a  Norfolk  jacket. 

"He  seems  to  have  done  very  well  in  the 
time,"  I  said.     "  That's  the  pretty  one,  isn't  it  }*' 

I  here  became  aware  that  the  hall  was  fill- 
ing with  people,  and  that   Mr.  Armstrong,  the 

92 


Harringtons 

auctioneer,  with  his  attendant  swarm  of  buyers, 
was  at  my  elbow. 

"  That's  a  sweet  instrument,"  he  said  dispassion- 
ately, **  and,  I  may  say,  magnificently  played. 
Come,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  we'll  not  interrupt 
the  concert.  It  might  be  as  good  for  me  to  take 
the  yard  next,  before  the  rain  comes." 

He  led  away  his  swarm,  like  a  queen  bee ; 
'*  Semiramide"  stormed  on  ;  some  people  strayed 
into  the  room  and  began  to  examine  the  furniture. 
The  afternoon  had  grown  overcast  and  threaten- 
ing, and  I  noticed  that  a  tall  man  in  dark  clothes 
and  a  yachting  cap  had  stationed  himself  near  the 
treble's  right  hand.  He  was  standing  between 
her  and  the  light,  rather  rudely,  it  seemed  to  me, 
but  the  players  did  not  appear  to  notice. 

**  That  was  rather  a  free  and  easy  fellow,"  I 
said  to  Philippa,  as  we  were  borne  along  to  the 
back  door  by  the  tide  of  auction. 

"  Who  ?  Do  you  mean  Mr.  Armstrong  ?  "  said 
Philippa.     **  I'm  rather  fond  of  him " 

*'  No,  the  tall  chap  in  the  yachting  cap." 

"  I  didn't  notice  him — "  began  Philippa,  but  at 
this  moment  we  were  shot  into  the  yard  by 
pressure  from  behind.  Mr.  Armstrong  took  his 
stand  on  a  packing-case,  the  people  hived  in 
round  him,  and  I  saw  my  wife  no  more. 

Coils  of  fencing  wire  and  sheets  of  corrugated 

93 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

iron  were  proffered,  and  left  the  audience  cold ;  a 
faint  interest  was  roused  when  the  auctioneer's  clerk 
held  up  one  of  a  party  of  zinc  pails  for  inspection. 

**  You'd  count  the  stars  through  that  one ! " 
said  a  woman  beside  me. 

**  You  can  buy  it  for  a  telescope,  ma'am ! "  said 
Mr.  Armstrong  swiftly. 

**  Well,  well,  hasn't  he  a  very  fine  delivery ! " 
said  my  neighbour,  regarding  Mr.  Armstrong  as 
if  he  were  a  landscape. 

**  Hannah,"  said  the  woman  on  my  other  hand, 
in  a  deep  and  reproachful  contralto,  speaking  as 
if  I  did  not  exist,  "  did  ye  let  the  kitchen  chairs 
go  from  you  ?  " 

*' There  wasn't  one  o'  them  but  had  a  leg 
astray,"  apologised  Hannah — **  they  got  great 
hardship.  When  Harrington  'd  have  a  drop  taken 
he'd  throw  them  here  and  there.'* 

**  Ladies  !  Ladies !"  reproved  Mr.  Armstrong. 
*'  Is  this  an  oxtion  or  is  it  a  conversassiony  1 
John!  show  that  ladder." 

•*A  big  lot  of  use  a  forty-foot  laddered  be 
to  the  people  round  this  place!  "  said  a  superior 
young  farmer  in  a  new  suit  of  clothes  ;  '*  there  isn't 
a  house  here,  unless  it's  my  father's,  would  have 
any  occasion  for  it." 

Hannah  dug  me  hard  in  the  ribs  with  her 
elbow  and  put  out  her  tongue, 

94 


Harrington^  s 

"  Five  shillings  I  am  bid  for  a  forty-foot 
ladder!"  said  Mr.  Armstrong  to  the  Heavens; 
**  I'd  get  a  better  price  at  a  jumble  sale!" 

"  Look  at  the  poker  they  have  in  it  by  the 
way  of  a  rung !  "  continued  the  young  farmer.  "  I 
wouldn't  be  bothered  buying  things  at  oxtions ; 
if  it  was  only  gettin'  marr'ed  you  were  you'd 
like  a  new  woman ! " 

**  Seven  and  six  ! " 

To  my  own  astonishment  I  heard  my  voice 
saying  this. 

**  Seven  and  six  I  am  bid,"  said  the  auctioneer, 
seizing  me  with  his  eye.  **Ten  shillings  may  I 
say  ?     Thank  you,  sir " 

The  clergyman  had  entered  the  lists  against  me. 

I  advanced  against  him  by  half-crowns ;  the 
audience  looked  on  as  at  a  battle  of  giants.  At 
twenty-five  shillings  I  knew  that  he  was  weak- 
ening ;  at  thirty  shillings  the  ladder  was  mine. 

I  backed  out  of  the  crowd  with  the  victor's 
laurels  on  my  brow,  and,  as  I  did  so,  a  speck 
of  rain  hit  me  in  the  eye.  The  sea  was  looking 
cold  and  angry,  and  the  horizon  to  windward  was 
as  thick  as  a  hedge.  It  was  obviously  time  to 
go,  and  I  proceeded  in  the  direction  of  the  car. 

As  I  left  the  yard  a  remarkable  little  animal, 
which  for  a  single  wild  instant  I  took  for  a  fox 
or  a  badger,  came  running  up  the  road.     It  was 

95 


In  Mr.  Knoxs  Country 

reddish  brown,  with  white  cheeks  and  a  white 
throat ;  it  advanced  hesitatingly  and  circled  round 
me  with  agitated  and  apologetic  whimpers. 

**  Minx  !  "  I  said  incredulously. 

The  fox  or  badger  flung  itself  on  its  side  and 
waved  a  forepaw  at  me. 

"  It's  hunting  rabbits  below  on  the  cliffs  she 
was,"  said  a  boy  in  a  white  flannel  jacket,  who 
was  sitting  on  the  wall. 

*'Oh,  there  you  are,"  said  Philippa's  voice 
behind  me ;  **  I  wanted  to  remind  you  to  re- 
member the  aneroid.  It*s  on  the  dining-room 
table.  I'm  feeling  rather  unhappy  about  that 
child,"  she  went  on,  "  I  can't  find  him  anywhere." 

*'  ril  go  in  and  find  him,"  I  said,  with  a  father's 
ferocity. 

**  I  hope  he's  there,"  said  Philippa  uncomfort- 
ably.    "  Good  gracious  !     Is  that  Minx  ?  " 

I  left  the  boy  to  explain,  and  made  for  the 
house,  getting  through  the  crowd  in  the  door- 
way by  the  use  of  tongue  and  elbows,  and 
making  my  way  upstairs,  strode  hastily  through 
the  dark  and  repellent  bedrooms  of  "  Harring- 
ton's."    Anthony  was  not  there. 

In  the  dining-room  I  heard  Andrew's  Voice, 
I  went  in  and  found  him  sitting  at  the  dinner- 
table  with  two  ladies,  one  of  whom  was  holding 
his  hand  and  examining  it  attentively. 

96 


Harringtons 

She  had  pale  eyelashes,  and  pale  golden  hair, 
very  firmly  and  repressively  arranged ;  she  was 
big  and  fresh  and  countrified  looking,  and  her 
eyes  were  water-green.  She  looked  like  an 
Icelander  or  a  Finn,  but  I  recognised  her  as 
the  second  Chicken  Farmer,   Dr.  Fraser. 

**  I  was  looking  for  Anthony,"  I  said,  with- 
holding with  difficulty  an  apology  for  intrusion. 
**  We've  got  to  get  away,  Andrew " 

**  I  was  having  my  fortune  told,"  said  Andrew, 
looking  foolish. 

*'  I  saw  your  little  boy  going  across  the  field 
there,  about  half  an  hour  ago,"  said  Dr.  Fraser, 
looking  up  at  me  with  eyes  of  immediate 
understanding.  **The  white  terrier  was  with 
him." 

*' Towards  the  cliffs?"  I  said,  feeling  glad  that 
Philippa  was  not  there. 

**No,  to  the  right — towards  the  tower."  She 
went  to  the  window.  **  There  was  some  one  with 
him,"  she  added  quickly.  "  There  he  is  now — that 
man  in  a  yachting  cap,  by  the  tower " 

"  I  don't  see  anyone,"  I  said,  refixing  my  eye- 
glass. 

Miss  Fraser  continued  to  stare  out  of  the 
window.  **  You're  short-sighted,"  she  said,  with- 
out looking  at  me.     "  Perhaps  if  the  window  were 

open " 

97  G 


In  Mr,  Knoi^s  Country 

Before  I  could  help  her  she  had  opened  it,  and 
the  west  wind  rushed  in,  with  big  drops  in  it. 
"  I    must   be    blind,"   I   said,    **  I    can   see   no 


II 
one. 


**  Nor  can  I — now,"  she  said,  drawing  back 
from  the  window. 

She  sat  down  at  the  table  as  if  her  knees  had 
given  way,  and  her  strong  white  hand  fell  slackly 
on  Philippa's  purchase,  the  old  aneroid  barometer, 
and  rested  there.  The  other  girl  looked  at  her 
anxiously. 

**  Hold  up,  Cathie!"  she  said,  as  one  speaks  to 
a  horse  when  it  stumbles. 

Her  friend's  eyes  were  fixed,  and  empty  of 
expression,  and  the  fresh  pervading  pink  of  her 
face  had  paled. 

**  Perhaps  we  had  better  go  and  look  for  that 
kid,"  said  Andrew,  getting  up,  and  I  knew  that 
he  too  was  aware  of  something  uncomfortable  in 
the  atmosphere.  Before  we  could  get  out  of  the 
room.  Dr.  "  Cathie  "  spoke. 

**  I  see  tram-lines,"  she  said  gropingly,  *'  and 
water — I  wonder  if  he's  asleep " 

She  sighed.  Andrew  and  I,  standing  aghast, 
saw  her  colour  begin  to  return. 

Her  friend's  eye  indicated  to  us  the  door.  We 
closed  it  behind  us,  and  shoved  our  way  through 
the  hall. 

98 


Harrington's 

"  I  say ! "  said  Andrew,  as  we  got  outside,  *'  I 
thought  she  was  going  to  chuck  a  fit,  or  have 
hysterics,  or  something.     Didn't  you  ?  " 

I  did  not  answer.  Cantillon,  the  sweep,  was 
hurrying  towards  me  with  tidings  in  his  face. 

**  Mrs.  Yeates  is  after  going  to  the  cliff  looking 
for  the  young  gentleman — but  sure  what  I  was 


saymg 

I  did  not  wait  to  hear  what  Cantillon's  observa- 
tions had  been,  because  I  had  caught  sight  of 
Philippa,  away  in  a  field  near  the  edge  of  the 
cliffs.  She  was  running,  and  the  boy  with  the 
white  flannel  jacket  was  in  front  of  her.  It 
seemed  ridiculous  to  hurry,  when  I  knew  that 
Anthony  had  been  accompanied  by  a  large  man 
in  a  yachting  cap  (in  itself  a  guarantee  of  com- 
petency). 

None  the  less,  I  ran,  with  the  wind  and  the 
heavy  raindrops  in  my  face,  across  country,  not 
round  by  the  road,  and  ran  the  faster  for  seeing 
my  wife  and  her  companion  sinking  out  of  sight 
over  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  as  by  an  oblique  path. 
My  way  took  me  past  the  tower ;  there  was  a 
little  plateau  there,  with  a  drooping  wire  fence 
round  it,  and  I  had  a  glimpse  of  the  square  black 
mouth  of  the  disused  shaft. 

"  Near  the  tower,"  the  girl  had  said ;  but  she 
had  also  said  there  was  a  man  with  him. 

99 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

I  ran  on,  but  fear  had  sprung  out  of  the  shaft 
and  came  with  me. 

A  hard-trodden  path  led  from  the  tower  to  the 
cliff;  it  fell  steeper  and  steeper,  till,  at  a  hairpin 
turn,  it  became  rocky  steps,  slanting  in  sharp-cut 
zigzags  down  the  face  of  the  cliff.  On  the  right 
hand  the  rocks  leaned  out  above  my  head,  yellow 
and  grey  and  dripping,  and  tufted  with  sea  pinks ; 
on  the  left  there  was  nothing  except  the  wind. 
A  couple  of  hundred  feet  below  the  sea  growled 
and  bellowed,  plunging  among  broken  rocks.  I 
did  not  give  room  to  the  thought  of  Anthony's 
light  body,  tossed  about  there. 

At  a  corner  far  below  I  had  a  glimpse  of 
Philippa  and  the  boy  in  the  white  jacket ;  he  was 
leading  her  down — holding  her  hand — my  poor 
Philippa,  whose  nightmare  is  height,  who  has 
vertige  on  a  step-ladder.  She  must  have  had  a 
sure  word  that  Anthony  had  gone  down  this 
dizzy  path  before  her.  A  mass  of  rock  rose  up 
between  us,  and  they  were  gone,  and  in  that 
gusty  and  treacherous  wind  it  was  impossible  to 
make  better  speed. 

The  damnable  iteration  of  the  steps  continued 
till  my  knees  shook  and  my  brain  was  half  numb. 
They  ceased  at  last  at  the  mouth  of  a  tunnel, 
half-way  down  the  vertical  face  of  the  cliff;  there 
was  a  platform  outside  it,  over  the  edge  of  which 

lOO 


Harrington^  s 

two  rusty  rails  projected  into  space  above  a 
narrow  cove,  where  yellow  foam,  far  below, 
churned  and  blew  upwards  in  heavy  flakes. 
Philippa  and  her  guide  had  vanished.  I  felt  for 
my  match-box,  and  plunged  into  the  dark  and 
dripping  tunnel. 

I  pushed  ahead,  at  such  speed  as  is  possible 
for  a  six-foot  man  in  a  five-foot  passage,  splashing 
in  the  stream  that  gurgled  between  the  tram- 
rails,  and  stumbling  over  the  sleepers.  Soon  the 
last  touches  of  daylight  glinted  in  the  water,  they 
died,  and  it  was  pitch  dark.  I  struck  a  match, 
sheltering  it  with  my  cap  from  the  drips  of  the 
roof,  and  shouted,  and  stood  still,  listening. 
There  was  no  sound,  except  the  muffled  roar  of 
the  sea  outside  ;  the  match  kindled  broad  sparkles 
of  copper  ore  in  the  rock,  but  other  response  there 
was  none. 

Match  by  match  I  got  ahead,  shouting  at  inter- 
vals, stooping,  groping,  clutching  at  the  greasy 
baulks  of  timber  that  supported  the  roof  and 
sides,  till  a  cold  draught  blew  out  my  match. 
My  next  revealed  a  cross-gallery,  with  a  broken 
truck  blocking  one  entrance.  There  remained 
two  ways  to  choose  between.  It  was  certain 
that  the  tram-rails  must  lead  to  the  shaft,  but 
which  way  had   Philippa  gone?     And  Anthony 

J^  stood  in  maddening  blackness ;  some  dark- 

lOI 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

ness  is  a  negative  thing,  this  seemed  an  active, 
malevolent  pressure.  I  counted  my  matches,  and 
shouted,  and  still  my  voice  came  back  to  me, 
baffled,  and  without  a  hope  in  it.  There  were 
not  half  a  dozen  matches  left. 

A  faint,  paddling  sound  became  audible  above 
the  drippings  from  the  roof;  I  struck  another  of 
my  matches,  and  something  low  and  brown  came 
panting  into  the  circle  of  light.  It  was  Minx, 
coming  to  me  along  the  gallery  of  the  tram-rails. 
She  paused  just  short  of  the  cross-ways,  staring 
as  though  I  were  a  stranger,  and  again  a  circling 
wind  blew  out  my  match.  A  fresh  light  showed 
her,  still  motionless ;  her  back  was  up,  not  in 
the  ordinary  ridge,  but  in  patches  here  and 
there ;  she  was  looking  at  something  behind  me ; 
she  made  her  mouth  as  round  as  a  shilling,  held 
up  her  white  throat,  and  howled,  thinly  and  care- 
fully, as  if  she  were  keening.  I  cannot  deny 
that  I  stiffened  as  I  stood,  and  that  second  being 
that  inhabits  us,  the  being  that  is  awake  when 
we  are  asleep  (and  is  always  afraid),  took  charge 
for  a  moment ;  the  other  partner,  who  is,  I  try 
to  think,  my  real  self,  pulled  himself  together 
with  a  certain  amount  of  bad  language,  thrust 
Minx  aside,  and  went  ahead  along  the  gallery 
of  the  tram-lines. 

It  needed  only  a  dozen  steps,  and  what  Minx 

102 


HarringtoTis 

had  or  had  not  seen  became  a  negligible  matter. 
A  white  light,  that  turned  the  flame  of  my 
match  to  orange,  began  to  irradiate  the  tunnel 
like  moonrise,  defining  theatrically  the  profiles 
of  rock,  and  the  sagging  props  and  beams.  It 
came  from  an  electric  lamp,  Anthony's  electric 
lamp,  standing  on  a  heap  of  shale.  The  boy 
in  the  flannel  jacket  was  holding  a  lighted  candle- 
end  in  his  fingers,  and  bending  low  over  Philippa, 
who  was  kneeling  between  the  tram-lines  in  the 
muddy  water,  holding  Anthony  in  her  arms. 
He  was  motionless  and  limp,  and  I  felt  that 
sickening  drop  of  the  heart  that  comes  when  the 
thing  that  seems  too  bad  to  think  of  becomes  in 
an  instant  the  thing  that  is. 

**  Tram-lines  and  water — "  said  a  level  voice 
in  my  brain.     "  I  wonder  if  he  is  asleep " 

I  wondered  too. 

Philippa  looked  up,  with  eyes  that  accepted 
me  without  comment. 

**Only  stunned,  I  think,"  she  said  hoarsely. 
"  He  opened  his  eyes  an  instant  ago." 

"The  timber  fell  on  him,"  said  the  country 
boy.  "  Look  where  he  have  the  old  prop 
knocked.     'Twas  little  but  he  was  dead." 

Anthony  stirred  uneasily. 

"Oh,  mother,  you're  holding  me  too  tight!" 
he  said  fractiously. 

103 


In  Mr.  Knoxs  Country 

From  somewhere  ahead  vague  noises  came, 
rumblings,  scrapings,  hangings  like  falling  stones — 

"It  must  be  they're  putting  a  ladder  down  in 
the  shaft,"  said  the  boy. 

Anthony  had  broken  his  collar-bone.  So 
Dr.  Fraser  said ;  she  tied  him  up  with  her 
knitted  scarf  by  the  light  of  the  electric  torch; 
I  carried  him  up  the  ladder,  and  have  an  inefface- 
able memory  of  the  lavender  glare  of  daylight 
that  met  us,  and  of  the  welcome  that  was  in 
the  everyday  rain  and  the  wet  grass.  In  the 
relief  of  the  upper  air  I  even  bore  with  serenity 
the  didactics  of  Andrew,  who  assured  me  that 
he  had  seen  from  the  first  that  the  shaft  was  the 
centre  of  the  position,  though  he  had  never  been 
in  the  slightest  degree  uneasy,  because  Dr. 
Fraser  had  seen  some  one  with  Anthony. 

Dr.  Fraser  said  nothing  ;  no  more  did  I. 

*'See  now,"  said  Cantillon  the  sweep,  who, 
in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  auction,  was 
standing  round  the  car  to  view  our  departure, 
**it  pinched  me  like  death  when  they  told  me 
the  Major  had  that  laddher  bought ! " 

Being  at  the  time  sufficiently  occupied  in  pre- 
paring to  get  away,  I  did  not  enquire  why  Can- 
tillon should  have  taken  the  matter  so  much  to 
heart. 

104 


Harringtofi  s 

"  But  after  all,"  he  proceeded,  having  secured 
the  attention  of  his  audience  by  an  effective 
opening,  **  wasn't  it  the  mercy  of  God  them  chaps 
Mr.  Knox  has  at  the  kennels  had  it  lent  to  the 
Mahonys,  and  them  that's  here  took  it  from  the 
Mahonys  in  a  hurry  the  time  Mr.  Harrington 
died !  And  through  all  it  was  the  Major's 
ladder." 

Andrew  had  the  ill-breeding  to  laugh. 

"  Sure  it'd  be  no  blame  for  a  gentleman  not 
to  know  the  like  of  it,"  said  Cantillon  with 
severity.  "  Faith,  I  mightn't  know  it  meself  only 
for  the  old  poker  1  stuck  in  it  one  time  at  Mr. 
Knox's  when  a  rung  broke  under  me " 

It  is  a  valuable  property  of  the  motor-car  that 
It  can,  at  a  moment's  notice,  fill  an  inconvenient 
interval  with  loud  noises.  I  set  the  engine 
going  and  jumped  into  the  car. 

Something,  covered  by  a  rug,  cracked  and 
squashed  under  my  foot.     It  was  the  aneroid. 

When  we  reached  a  point  in  the  road  where 
it  skirts  the  cliff  I  stopped  the  car,  and  flung  the 
aneroid,  like  a  quoit,  over  the  edge,  through  the 
wind  and  the  rain,  into  oblivion. 


105 


THE    MAROAN    PONY 

It  had  taken  ten  minutes  to  work  the  car  over 
the  bridge  at  Poundlick,  so  intricate  was  the 
crowd  of  people  and  carts,  so  blind  and  deaf 
to  any  concerns  save  their  own ;  a  crowd  that 
offered  sometimes  the  resistance  of  the  feather 
bed,  sometimes  that  of  the  dead  wall,  an  intract- 
able mass,  competent  to  reduce  the  traffic  of 
Piccadilly  to  chaos,  and  the  august  Piccadilly 
police  to  the  point  of  rushing  to  the  nearest 
lunatic  asylum,  and  saying,  **  Let  us  in !  We 
are  mad ! " 

The  town  of  Poundlick  is  built  at  so  accom- 
modating a  tilt  that  it  is  possible  to  stand  on  the 
bridge  at  its  foot,  and  observe  the  life  of  its 
single  street  displayed  like  a  poster  on  the  hill- 
side ;  even  to  compare  the  degrees  of  custom 
enjoyed  by  its  public-houses,  and  to  estimate  the 
number  of  cur  dogs  to  the  square  yard  of  pave- 
ment. I  speak  of  an  ordinary  day.  But  this 
hot  twentieth  of  September  was  far  from  being 
ordinary. 

The  Poundlick  Races  are,  I  believe,  an  ancient 
1 06 


TChe  Maroan  Tony 

and  annual  function,  but,  being  fifteen  miles  from 
anywhere,  I  had  hitherto  been  content  to  gauge 
their  attractions  by  their  aftermath  of  cases  in 
the  Petty  Sessions  Court  next  following  the 
fixture.  There  is,  however,  no  creature  more 
the  sport  of  circumstances  than  a  married  man 
with  a  recent  motor  ;  my  attendance,  and  that 
of  the  car,  at  the  Poundlick  Races  had  been 
arranged  to  the  last  sandwich  before  I  had  time 
to  collect  objections  (and  this  method,  after  all, 
saves  some  wear  and  tear). 

The  races  are  held  on  the  banks  of  the  Arri- 
gadheel  River,  within  hail  of  the  town,  and  are 
reached — as  everything  in  Ireland  is  reached — 
by  a  short  cut.  We — that  is  to  say,  my  wife, 
her  cousin,  Captain  Andrew  Larpent,  R.E.,  and 
I — were  gathered  into  the  jovial  crowd  that 
straggled,  and  hustled,  and  discoursed  over  the 
marshy  meadows  of  the  river,  and  ploughed 
through  the  brown  mud  in  the  gaps  without  a 
check  in  pace  or  conversation.  The  Committee 
had  indeed  **  knocked  "  walls,  and  breached  banks, 
but  had  not  further  interfered  with  the  course  of 
nature,  and  we  filed  at  length  on  to  the  course 
across  a  tributary  of  the  river,  paying  a  penny 
each  for  the  facilities  offered  by  a  narrow  and 
bounding  plank  and  the  muddy  elbow  of  a  young 
man  who  stood  in  mid-stream ;  an  amenity 
accepted  with   suitable   yells   by   the  ladies   (of 

107 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

whom  at  least  ninety  per  cent,  remarked  **0 
God  !  "  in  transit). 

The  fact  that  there  are  but  four  sound  and 
level  fields  within  a  ten-mile  radius  of  Poundlick 
had  simplified  the  labours  of  the  Committee  in 
the  selection  of  a  course.  Rocky  hills  rose  steeply 
on  two  sides  of  the  favoured  spot,  the  Arrigadheel 
laid  down  the  law  as  to  its  boundaries,  and  within 
these  limitations  an  oval  course  had  been  laid 
out  by  the  simple  expedient  of  breaking  gaps 
in  the  banks.  The  single  jump-race  on  the  pro- 
gramme was  arranged  for  by  filling  the  gaps  with 
bundles  of  furze,  and  there  was  also  a  water-jump, 
more  or  less  forced  upon  the  Committee  by  the 
intervention  of  a  ditch  pertaining  to  one  of  the 
fences.  A  section  of  the  ditch  had  been  widened 
and  dammed,  and  the  shallow  trough  of  pea- 
soup  that  resulted  had  been  raised  from  the 
rank  of  a  puddle  by  a  thin  decoration  of  cut 
furze-bushes. 

The  races  had  not  begun,  but  many  horses 
were  galloping  about  and  over  the  course,  whether 
engaged  in  unofficial  competitions  or  in  adding  a 
final  bloom  to  their  training,  I  am  unable  to  say. 
We  wandered  deviously  among  groups  of  country 
people,  anchored  in  conversation,  or  moving,  still 
in  conversation,  as  irresistibly  as  a  bog-slide. 
Whether  we  barged  into  them,  or  they  into  us, 
was  a  matter  of  as  complete  indifference  to  them 

io8 


ne  Maroan  ^ony 

as  it  would  have  been  to  a  drove  of  their  own 
bony  cattle. 

**  These  are  the  sort  of  people  I  love,"  said 
Philippa,  her  eyes  ranging  over  the  tented  field 
and  its  throngs,  and  its  little  red  and  green  flags 
flapping  in  the  sunshine.  **  Real  Primitives,  like 
a  chorus  in  Acis  and  Galatea  I " 

She  straightened  her  hat  with  a  gasp,  as  a 
couple  of  weighty  female  primitives  went  through 
us  and  passed  on.  (In  all  circumstances  and 
fashions,  my  wife  wears  a  large  hat,  and  thereby 
adds  enormously  to  the  difficulties  of  life.)  Among 
the  stalls  of  apples  and  biscuits,  and  adjacent  to 
the  drink  tent,  a  roulette  table  occurred,  at  which 
the  public  were  invited  to  stake  on  various  items 
of  the  arms  of  the  United  Kingdom.  The  public 
had  accepted  the  invitation  in  considerable  num- 
bers, and  I  did  not  fail  to  point  out  to  Philippa 
the  sophisticated  ease  with  which  Acis  flung 
his  penny  upon  "  Harp,"  while  Galatea,  planking 
twopence  upon  the  Prince  of  Wales'  plumes, 
declared  that  the  last  races  she  was  at  she  got 
the  price  of  her  ticket  on  *'  Feather." 

We  passed  on,  awaking  elusive  hopes  in  the 
bosoms  of  two  neglected  bookmakers,  who  had 
at  intervals  bellowed  listlessly  to  the  elements, 
and  now  eagerly  offered  me  Rambling  Katty  at 
two  to  one. 

"  Boys,  hurry  1  There's  a  man  dead,  north ! " 
109 


In  Mr,  Knox^s  Country 

shrieked  a  boy,  leaping  from  the  top  of  a  bank. 
"  Come  north  till  we  see  him  !  *' 

A  rush  of  boys  went  over  us  ;  the  roulette  table 
was  deserted  in  a  flash,  and  its  proprietor  and  the 
bookmakers  exchanged  glances  expressive  of  the 
despicable  frivolity  of  the  rustics  of  Poundlick. 

**We  ought  to  try  to  find  Dr.  Fraser,"  said 
Philippa,  hurrying  in  the  wake  of  the  stampede. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  the  Chicken  Farmers 
were  to  be  among  the  attractions,"  I  said  to 
Andrew,  realising,  not  for  the  first  time,  that  I 
am  but  an  infant  crying  in  the  night  where 
matters  of  the  higher  diplomacy  are  toward. 

Andrew  made  no  reply,  as  is  the  simple  method 
of  some  men  when  they  do  not  propose  to  give 
themselves  away,  and  we  proceeded  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  catastrophe. 

The  dead  man  was  even  less  dead  than  I  had 
expected.  He  was  leaning  against  a  fence,  explain- 
ing to  Dr.  Catherine  Fraser  that  he  felt  all  the 
noise  of  all  the  wars  of  all  the  worlds  within  in 
his  head. 

Dr.  Fraser,  who  was  holding  his  wrist,  while 
her  friend.  Miss  Longmuir,  kept  the  small  boys 
at  bay,  replied  that  she  would  like  a  more 
precise  description.  The  sufferer,  whose  colour 
was  returning,  varied  the  metaphor,  and  said 
that  the  sound  was  for  all  the  world  like  the 
quacking  of  ducks. 

no 


Lyney's  a  tough  dog  I " 


The  Maroan  'Fony 

"  You'd  better  go  home  and  keep  quiet,"  said 
Dr.  Fraser,  accepting  the  symptom  with  pro- 
fessional gravity. 

I  asked  my  next  door  neighbour  how  the 
accident  had  occurred. 

**  Danny  Lyons  here  was  practising  this  young 
mare  of  Herlihy's  for  Lyney  Garrett,  that's  to 
ride  her  in  the  first  race,"  said  my  neighbour, 
a  serious  man  with  bushy  black  whiskers,  like 
an  old-fashioned  French  waiter,  **and  sure  she's 
as  loose  as  a  hare,  and  when  she  saw  the  flag 
before  her  on  the  fence,  she  went  into  the  sky, 
and  Danny  dhruv  in  the  spur  to  keep  the  balance, 
and  with  that  then  the  sterrup  broke." 

**  It's  little  blagyarding  she'd  have  if  it  was 
Lyney  was  riding  her ! "  said  some  one  else. 

**Ah,  Lyney's  a  tough  dog,"  said  my  neigh- 
bour ;  *'  in  the  Ring  of  Ireland  there  isn't  a  nicer 
rider." 

**  There  might  be  men  as  good  as  him  in 
Poundlick ! "  said  an  ugly  little  black-muzzled 
fellow,  suddenly  and  offensively,  **and  horses 
too  !     As  good  as  any  he'll  throw  his  leg  over !  " 

Dr.  Fraser's  patient  stood  up  abruptly. 

**  Oh,  oh,  oh  ! "  said  the  man  with  the  bushy 
whiskers,  placing  himself  in  front  of  the  invalid. 
"  Let  you  be  said  by  the  lady,  Danny,  and  go 
home  !     Have  behaviour  now,  Peter  Lynch  !  " 

The  matter  hung  for  a  moment ;  a  bell  began 
III 


In  Mr,  Knoxs  Country 

to  ring  in  the  middle  of  the  course,  and  the 
onlookers  flung  the  situation  from  them  like  a 
squeezed  lemon,  and  swept  en  masse  towards  the 
summons,  bearing  with  them  the  invalid. 

"  Off  the  stage  I  have  never  seen  people  clear 
out  so  fast,"  remarked  Andrew.  **  Now  that 
we've  seen  Dr.  Eraser's  Lightning  Cure,  I  sup- 
pose we  may  as  well  go  too." 

His  eyes,  by  a  singular  coincidence,  met  those 
of  Miss  Longmuir,  which  were  very  pretty  eyes, 
dark  and  soft. 

"  I  must  go  and  hunt  up  our  pony,"  she  said, 
with  a  very  businesslike  air  ;  **  we've  entered  her 
for  the  third  race,  you  know." 

She  put  back  her  hair  as  it  blew  across  her 
forehead,  and  the  gold  in  it  glinted  in  the  sun. 

**  How  sporting  of  you ! "  we  heard  Andrew 
say,  as  they  walked  away  together. 

My  wife  and  Dr.  Fraser  and  I  turned  as  one 
man,  and  went  in  the  opposite  direction. 

We  steered  for  an  island  of  furze  and  grey 
boulders  that  had  been  flung  into  the  valley 
like  a  vedette  from  the  fortified  hill-side,  and 
was  placed,  considerately,  at  the  apex  of  the 
oval  course.  Half  a  dozen  men  were  already 
grouped  upon  the  boulders,  like  cormorants. 
We  clambered  to  a  higher  ^tage^  and  there 
spread  forth  ourselves  and  our  belongings  upon 
the  warm  slabs.     The  sun  was  hot,  yet  not  too 

112 


l^he  Maroan  ^ony 

hot,  the  smell  of  trodden  turf  was  pleasant  in  the 
air,  the  river  sparkled  and  gurgled  beside  us  ; 
the  chimneys  of  Poundlick  sent  up  languid  spires 
of  blue  smoke  ;  its  yellow  and  pink  and  white 
houses  became  poetic  in  the  September  haze. 
The  first  delicate  pangs  of  hunger  were  stealing 
upon  us,  and  I  felt  reasonably  certain  that 
nothing  necessary  to  our  welfare  had  been  for- 
gotten. I  lit  a  cigarette  and  pulled  my  cap  over 
my  eyes,  and  listened  to  a  lark,  spiring,  like  the 
smoke,  into  the  blue,  while  my  wife  clattered  in 
the  luncheon  basket.  It  was  a  moment  of  entire 
well-being,  overshadowed  only  by  the  prospect 
of  having  to  take  an  interest  in  the  racing. 

I  said  as  much  to  Dr.  Fraser,  who  was  dis- 
membering a  cold  chicken  with  almost  awful 
surgical  dexterity. 

"  You  must  wake  up  for  our  race,"  she  said. 
"  I'll  call  you  in  time." 

"  Must  I  ?     I  hope  you're  going  to  ride." 

**  Heaven  forfend ! "  replied  Dr.  Fraser. 
"Nothing  more  spirited  than  a  weight-carrying 
bicycle!  I'm  not  in  the  least  horsey.  Meg  was 
dying  to  ride,  but  as  we  bought  the  pony  from 
the  great  Lyney,  and  he  had  won  any  number 
of  races  on  her,  he  was  distinctly  indicated." 

"  Quite  right  too,"  I  said,  with  dowager-like 
propriety.  **  And  I  should  wish  it  to  be  clearly 
understood    that   if,    at    the    last    moment,    your 

113  H 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

friend  Mr.  Lyney  should  be  too  drunk  to  ride, 
I  will  not  take  his  place." 

*'  He  doesn't  drink,"  said  Dr.  Fraser,  who  has 
an  unsympathetic  way  of  keeping  to  the  point. 
"  He's  been  a  great  friend  of  mine  ever  since  I 
mended  a  broken  finger  for  him." 

There  was  a  stir  among  the  cormorants  on  the 
lower  tier  of  boulders,  a  shot  was  fired  at  the  far 
end  of  the  course,  every  one  began  to  shout,  and 
an  irregularly  shaped  mass  was  detached  from 
the  crowd,  and  resolved  itself  into  a  group  of 
seven  horses,  pounding  towards  us  at  a  lumber- 
ing canter.  One  of  the  riders  had  a  green  jacket, 
the  others  were  in  shirt  sleeves,  with  coloured 
scarves  over  their  shoulders ;  all  were  bare- 
headed. As  they  neared  the  first  jump,  I  found 
myself  on  my  feet  on  my  boulder,  with  two  un- 
known men  hanging  on  to  me  to  steady  them- 
selves. 

"  That's  no  throuble  to  them !  "  shouted  one  of 
my  attaches,  as  each  horse  in  turn  galloped  over 
or  through  the  barrier  of  furze  in  the  gap. 

**  Which  is  Lyney  Garrett?"   I  asked. 

'*  That's  him  on  the  chestnut  mare — the  jock 
that  have  the  dhress  on  him."  He  pointed  to 
the  wearer  of  the  green  jacket. 

**  Ah  ha !  Lyney 's  the  boy  !  Look  at  him  now, 
how  he'll  stoop  and  leave  the  horse  to  go  for  her- 
self!   He'll  easy  the  horse,  and  he'll  easy  himself! " 

114 


T'he  Maroan  ^ony 

"That  Rambling  Katty  he's  riding's  a  nice 
loose  mare — she  has  a  good  fly  in  her,"  said 
another. 

**  Lyney's  built  for  it.  If  there's  any  sort  of 
a  spring  in  a  horse  at  all,  he'll  make  him  do  it." 

**  He'd  make  a  donkey  plough  !"  flung  in  another 
enthusiast. 

As  they  neared  the  flags  at  the  turn  of  the 
oval — and  an  uncommonly  sharp  turn  it  was — 
the  pace  improved,  each  man  trying  to  get  the 
inside  station ;  I  could  already  see,  written  on 
the  countenance  of  a  large  young  grey  horse, 
his  determination  to  pursue  an  undeviating  course 
of  his  own. 

"Now,  Lyney!  Spare  him  in  the  angle!" 
shouted  my  neighbour,  hanging  on  to  my  sleeve 
and  rocking  perilously. 

Lyney,  a  square-shouldered  young  man,  pale 
and  long-jawed,  bored  determinedly  on  to  the 
first  flag,  hit  it  with  his  right  knee,  wrenched 
Rambling  Katty  round  the  second  flag,  and  got 
away  for  the  water-jump  three  lengths  ahead  of 
anyone  else. 

**  Look  at  that  for  ye — how  he  goes  round  the 
corner  on  one  leg !  "  roared  his  supporter.  **  He'd 
not  stop  for  the  Lord  Leftenant !  " 

The  remaining  riders  fought  their  way  round 
the  flags,  with  strange  tangents  and  interlacing 
curves  ;  all,  that  is  to  say,  save  the  grey  horse, 

lis 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

who  held  on  unswervingly  and  made  straight 
for  the  river.  The  spectators,  seated  on  the 
low  bank  at  its  edge,  left  their  seats  with  singular 
unanimity.  The  majority  fled,  a  little  boy  turned 
a  somersault  backwards  into  the  water,  but  three 
or  four  hardier  spirits  tore  off  their  coats,  swung 
them  like  flails  in  front  of  the  grey,  and  threw 
their  caps  in  his  face,  with  a  wealth  of  objurga- 
tion that  I  have  rarely  heard  equalled. 

**  The  speed  was  in  him  and  he  couldn't  turn," 
explained  one  of  my  neighbours,  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  as  the  grey,  yielding  to  public  opinion, 
returned  to  the  course  and  resumed  the  race. 

**  That  horse  is  no  good,"  said  a  dapper  young 
priest,  who  had  joined  our  crowd  on  the  rock. 
"Look  at  his  great  flat  feet!  You'd  bake  a 
cake  on  each  of  them  !  " 

*'  Well,  that's  the  case  indeed.  Father,"  replied 
a  grizzled  old  farmer,  **  but  he's  a  fine  cool  horse, 
and  a  great  farming  horse  for  ever.  Be  gance  ! 
He'd  plough  the  rocks  !  " 

"  Well,  he'll  get  a  nice  view  of  the  race,  any- 
way," said  the  young  priest,  *'  he  has  it  all  before 
him." 

**  They  don't  seem  to  be  getting  any  delay 
with  the  water-jump,"  said  some  one  else  regret- 
fully. 

"Ah,  what's  in  it  but  the  full  of  a  few  tin 
cans  !  "  said  my  adherent. 

Ii6 


7he  Maroan  ^ony 

"  Well,  for  all,  it  knocked  a  good  lep  out  o* 
Rambling  Katty :  she  went  mountains  over  it !  " 

"  Look  south  !  Look  south  !  They're  coming 
on  again,  and  only  five  o'  them  in  it " 

The  cheering  was  hotter  this  time,  and  it  was 
entirely  characteristic  that  it  was  the  riders  who 
were  shouted  for  and  not  the  horses. 

"  They'll  win  now  this  turn — there's  three  o* 
them  very  thick,  that's  a  nice  tidy  race,"  said  the 
old  farmer. 

**Good  boy,  Kenny!  Go  on,  Kenny!"  bel- 
lowed some  one  on  a  lower  ledge. 

"  Who's  second,  coming  up  to  the  flag  now  ?  " 
panted  Philippa,  who  was  hanging  on  to  the 
collar  of  my  coat  and  trying  to  see  over  my 
shoulder. 

**  That's  Jimmy  Kenny,"  responded  the  man 
below,  turning  a  black-muzzled  face  up  towards 
us,  his  light  eyes  gleaming  between  their  black 
lashes  in  the  sunshine,  like  aquamarines.  I  re- 
cognised Peter  Lynch,  whom  we  had  met  earlier 
in  the  day. 

"  It's  young  Kenny  out  of  the  shop,"  ex- 
plained the  old  farmer  to  me;  "he  rides  very 
nate." 

No  one  was  found  to  endorse  his  opinion. 
The  horses  came  on,  sweating  and  blowing,  the 
riders,  by  this  time  very  red  in  the  face,  already 
taking  to  their  whips.     By  some  intricate  process 

117 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

of  jostling,  young  Kenny  got  the  inside  place  at 
the  first  flag. 

*'Now  is  he  nate!  What  was  I  saying!" 
exulted  the  old  farmer. 

"  Lyney !  Lyney  !  "  roared  the  faithful  gallery, 
as  the  leaders  hustled  round  the  second  flag  and 
went  away  up  the  course. 

**Up,  Kenny!"  replied  the  raucous  tenor  of 
Peter  Lynch  in  solitary  defiance. 

Last  of  all,  the  grey  horse,  who  would  plough 
the  rocks,  came  on  indomitably,  and  made,  as 
before,  a  bee-line  for  the  river.  Here,  however, 
he  was  confronted  by  a  demonstration  hurriedly 
arranged  by  his  friends,  who  advanced  upon  him 
waving  tall  furze-bushes,  with  which  they  beat 
him  in  the  face.  The  grey  horse  changed  his 
mind  with  such  celerity  that  he  burst  his  girths ; 
some  one  caught  him  by  the  head,  while  his 
rider  hung  precariously  upon  his  neck ;  some 
one  else  dragged  off  the  saddle,  replanted  his 
jockey  upon  his  broad  bare  back,  and  speeded 
him  on  his  way  by  bringing  the  saddle  down 
upon  his  hind-quarters  with  an  all-embracing 
thump. 

**  It's  only  the  age  he  wants,"  said  a  partisan. 
"If  they'd  keep  him  up  to  the  practice,  he'd  be 
a  sweeper  yet! " 

Tumult  at  the  end  of  the  course,  and  a  pistol- 
shot,  here  announced  that  the  race  was  over. 

U8 


The  Maroan  ^ony 

"  Lyney  have  it ! "  shouted  some  men,  stand- 
ing on  the  fence  by  the  water-jump. 

"What  happened  Kenny?"  bawled  Peter 
Lynch. 

"He  was  passing  the  flag  and  he  got  clung 
in  the  pole,  and  the  next  man  knocked  him  down 
out  of  the  pole ! "  shouted  back  the  Field  Tele- 
graph. 

**  Oh  pity !  '*  said  the  old  farmer. 

**  He  didn't  get  fair  play!"  vociferated  Peter 
Lynch,  glowering  up  at  the  adherents  of  Lyney 
with  a  very  green  light  in  his  eye. 

The  young  priest  made  a  slight  and  repressive 
gesture  with  his  hand.  **  That'll  do  now,  Peter," 
he  said,  and  turned  to  the  old  farmer.  **  Well, 
Rambling  Katty's  a  hardy  bit  of  stuff,"  he  went 
on,  brushing  the  rock-lichen  from  his  black  coat. 

"  She  is  that.  Father,"  responded  my  late  ad- 
herent, who,  to  my  considerable  relief,  had  now 
ceased  to  adhere.  **And  nothing  in  her  but  a 
fistful  of  bran  !  " 

**  She's  the  dryest  horse  that  came  in,"  said  the 
young  priest,  descending  actively  from  the  rock. 

With  the  knowledge  that  the  Committee  would 
allow  an  hour  at  least  for  the  effects  of  a  race  to 
pass  off  before  launching  another,  we  climbed  to 
the  summit  of  the  island,  and  began  upon  the 
luncheon  basket ;  and,  as  vultures  drop  from  the 
blue  empyrean,  so  did  Andrew  and  Miss  Long- 

119 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

muir  arrive  from  nowhere  and  settle  upon  the 
sandwiches. 

**  Oh,  I  can't  eat  our  own  game,  can  I  ?  "  said 
the  latter,  with  a  slight  shudder,  as  I  placed  the 
chicken  before  her.  **  No — really — not  even  for 
your  sake!"  She  regarded  me  very  pleasingly, 
but  I  notice  that  it  is  only  since  my  hair  began 
to  turn  grey  over  my  ears  that  these  things  are 
openly  said  to  me.  *'  I  had  to  feed  four  dozen  of 
the  brutes  before  we  started  this  morning,  and  I 
shall  have  to  do  it  all  over  again  when  we  get 
home!" 

**  I  don't  know  how  you  stand  it,  I  should  let 
'em  starve,"  said  Andrew,  his  eyes  travelling 
from  her  white  forehead  to  her  brown  hands.  *'/ 
don't  consider  it  is  work  for  ladies." 

"  You  can  come  and  help  the  ladies  if  you 
like,"  said  Miss  Longmuir,  glancing  at  him  as 
she  drove  her  white  teeth  into  a  sandwich. 

"Do  you  mean  that?"  said  Andrew  in  a  low 
voice. 

**  She's  blown  him  to  pieces  before  he's  left  the 
covert,"  I  said  to  myself,  and  immediately  with- 
drew into  blameless  conversation  with  my  wife 
and  Dr.  Fraser. 

We  had  gone  pretty  well  down  through  the 
luncheon  basket,  and  had  arrived  at  a  second  and 
even  more  balmy — being  well-fed — period  of 
peace,   before  it  occurred  to  Miss  Longmuir  to 

120 


T^he  Maroan  Tony 

look  at  her  watch,  and  to  spoil  the  best  cigarette 
of  the  day  with  agitations  concerning  the  non- 
appearance of  her  pony.  I  suggested  that  she 
and  Captain  Larpent  should  go  in  search  of  it, 
and  for  a  brief  interval  the  disturbing  element 
was  eliminated.  It  returned,  with  added  agita- 
tion, in  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

"  Cathie !  I  can't  find  Nancy  anywhere ! 
We've  been  all  round  the  course,"  cried  Miss 
Longmuir  from  below.  **  And  John  Sullivan  is 
nowhere  to  be  found  either,  and  I  can't  get  near 
Lyney,  he's  riding  in  the  Trotting  Race." 

"  You'll  find  the  pony  is  somewhere  about  all 
right,"  I  said,  with  the  optimism  of  combined 
indolence  and  indifference. 

**  That  seems  probable,"  said  Andrew,  **  but 
the  point  is,  she's  somewhere  where  we're  not." 

''  The  point  is,  she  ought  to  be  here,"  said 
Miss  Longmuir,  with  a  very  bright  colour  in  her 
cheeks  as  she  looked  up  at  us. 

**  Heavens !  They're  very  angry !  "  I  mur- 
mured to  Dr.  Fraser. 

**  Well,  what  do  you  want  us  to  do  }  "  enquired 
Dr.  Fraser  lethargically. 

**  You  might  take  some  faint  shadow  of  interest 
in  the  fact  that  Nancy  is  lost,"  replied  Miss 
Longmuir, 

"  I  think  we'd  better  organise  a  search-party," 
said  Philippa  (who  does  not  smoke). 

121 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

We  rose  stiffly,  descended  from  our  sun-warmed 
boulders,  and  took  up  the  White  Man's  Burden. 

A  sweeping  movement  was  inaugurated,  whose 
objects  were  to  find  the  pony  or  her  attendant, 
John  Sullivan,  or  Lyney. 

"  Should  you  know  the  pony  if  you  saw  her  ?  " 
I  said  confidentially  to  Dr.  Fraser,  as  she  and  I 
set  forth  together. 

*' We've  not  had  it  very  long,"  she  replied 
dubiously.  **  Luckily  its  an  easy  colour.  John 
Sullivan  calls  it  maroan — a  sort  of  mixture  of 
roan  and  maroon." 

We  advanced  from  field  to  field,  driving  like 
twin  darning-needles  through  the  groups  of 
people,  but  neither  John  Sullivan  nor  the  maroan 
pony  transpired. 

"  Come  on,  come  on  !  The  Stepping  Match  is 
starting  ! "  shouted  some  one. 

Dr.  Fraser  and  I  were  caught  in  the  tightening 
mesh  of  the  crowd,  as  in  the  intricacies  of  a 
trammel  net ;  an  irregular  thumping  of  hoofs,  and 
a  row  of  bare  and  bobbing  heads,  passing  above 
the  heads  of  the  crowd,  indicated  that  the  Stepping 
Match  was  under  way.  Lyney*s  dour  face  and 
green  jacket  were  in  the  lead,  and,  as  before,  had 
he  been  Diana  of  the  Ephesians,  he  could  not 
have  been  more  passionately  called  upon.  As  it 
was  obviously  useless  for  us  to  do  so  at  this 
juncture,    we   climbed    on   to   a   bank    near   the 

122 


The  Maroan  ^ony 

winning  post,  and  watched  the  race.  Lyney  was 
riding  a  long-backed  yellow  animal  with  a  face  as 
cross  as  his  own,  and  a  step  as  fast  as  the  tick  of 
a  watch. 

*' Anny  other  man  than  Lyney  wouldn't  carry 
that  old  pony  round,"  said  one  man. 

**  She  has  a  score  o'  years  surely,  but  she's  as 
wicked  as  a  bee,"  said  another. 

"  Lyney 's  very  knacky ;  he  couldn't  be  bate," 
said  the  first  man. 

*'  Well,  well,  look  at  Jimmy  Kenny  and  his 
father,  and  the  two  o'  them  riding ! "  went  on  the 
commentator.  "  Faith,  I'd  give  the  father  the 
sway.  Jimmy's  riding  uneven.  When  the  nag 
is  rising,  he's  falling." 

**  Sure  he  has  his  two  elbows  into  his  ears ! 
Go  on,  Lyney  boy ! " 

The  horses  pounded  past,  splashing  through 
the  shallow  flood  of  the  water-jump,  and  tramp- 
ling over  such  furze-bushes  as  had  withstood  the 
vicissitudes  of  the  steeplechase.  They  passed 
from  our  view,  and  Dr.  Fraser  and  I  agreed  that 
we  should  be  justified  in  staying  where  we  were 
till  the  finish.  Three  times  they  passed  us, 
enveloped  in  a  travelling  roar  of  encouragements, 
and  with  each  passing  the  supporters  of  Lyney 
and  Kenny  bayed  and  howled  more  emulously. 
The  competitors,  now,  to  all  practical  intent, 
reduced  to  the  Kennys,  pere  et  fils^  and  Lyney, 

123 


In  Mr.   Knoxs  Country 

again  disappeared  on  their  last  round,  and  the 
volleys  of  incitement  became  a  dropping  fire  of 
criticism. 

**  Kenny's  mare  is  the  one,  the  others  is  too 
crippled." 

**  She'll  not  bate  Lyney  !  Divil  blast  the  bate 
she  have  in  her!  she's  too  dropped  and  too 
narra ! " 

**  What  horse  is  first  ?  " 

**  I  d'know  ;  only  one,  I  think." 

"  Look  at  young  Kenny  coming  up  on  the 
father  now ! " 

**  Ah,  there's  more  in  the  owld  fella,  never  fear 
him!" 

**  Come  on,  Lyney !  Come  on,  Kenny  I  Lyney ! 
Lyney!" 

Lyney  won.  The  bee-like  wickedness  of  the 
yellow  mare  apparently  served  her  as  well  as 
youth,  and  despite  the  fact  that  she  was  but  little 
over  fourteen  hands  and  was  carrying  twelve 
stone,  she  finished  a  dozen  lengths  in  front.  The 
interest  of  the  race  was  at  once  transferred  to  the 
struggle  for  second  place  between  the  Kennys. 

"  Come  on,  Tom  !  Come  on,  Jimmy !  Begor* 
the  father  have  it ! "  yelled  the  crowd,  as  Kenny 
plre,  flourishing  his  whip  over  his  grey  head, 
finished  half  a  length  in  front  of  his  son. 

**  Them  two  tight  wheels  at  the  corner,  'twas 
there  he  squeezed  the  advantage  on  the  son." 

124 


T*he  Maroan  Vony 

"  No,  but  the  father  had  a  drop  taken,  'twas 
that  that  gave  him  the  heart." 

Dr.  Fraser  and  I  got  off  our  fence  and  steered 
for  Lyney. 

He  was  in  the  act  of  throwing  the  reins  on 
the  pony's  neck  and  himself  off  her  back  as  we 
arrived. 

"  Here !  "  he  said  to  the  owner,  "  take  your 
old  skin ! " — he  tossed  his  whip  on  to  the 
ground — "  and  your  old  whip  too !  '* 

The  owner  took  the  **old  skin"  by  her  droop- 
ing and  dripping  head,  and  picked  up  the  whip, 
in  reverential  submission,  and  the  ring  of  ad- 
mirers evidently  accepted  this  mood  of  the  hero 
as  entirely  befitting  his  dignity. 

Dr.  Fraser  advanced  through  them  with  the 
effortless  impressiveness  of  a  big  woman,  and 
made  her  enquiries  about  the  pony.  Lyney 
dropped  the  hero  manner. 

**  I  don't  at  all  doubt  but  John  Sullivan's  gone 
up  to  Lynch's  for  her.  Doctor;  you  needn't  be 
uneasy  at  all,"  he  said,  with  a  respect  that  must 
have  greatly  enhanced  our  position  in  the  eyes 
of  the  crowd.  *'  I  told  him  he  shouldn't  bring 
her  too  soon  for  fear  she'd  sour  on  us.  We 
have  an  hour  yet." 

Soothed  by  this  assurance  we  moved  on,  and 
even,  in  this  moment  of  unexpected  leisure, 
dallied  with  the  roulette  table.     I  had,  in  fact, 

125 


In  Mr,  Kfjox's  Country 

lost  ninepence,  when  the  remainder  of  the  search- 
party  bore  down  upon  us  at  speed. 

**  The  pony  is  not  here !  "  said  Miss  Longmuir, 
regarding  our  outspread  coppers  with  an  eye  of 
burning  indignation,  "  and  Sullivan's  brother 
doesn't  know  where  he  is — says  he  went  up  to 
the  town  two  hours  ago.  I'm  going  up  to  look 
for  him,  but  of  course  if  you'd  rather  stay  and 
play  roulette — "  Her  voice  shook.  I  need 
hardly  say  that  we  went. 

On  our  arrival  at  the  town  of  Poundlick  we 
found  it  to  be  exclusively  inhabited  by  grand- 
mothers. Lynch's  public-house  was  garrisoned 
by  a  very  competent  member  of  the  force,  who 
emerged  from  the  kitchen  with  an  infant  in  her 
arms,  and  another  attached  to  her  clothing.  She 
knew  nothing  of  the  pony,  she  knew  nothing  of 
John  Sullivan.  There  was  certainly  a  young  lad 
that  came  in,  and  he  having  drink  taken,  and 
wherever  he  got  it,  it  wasn't  in  this  house,  and 
what  did  he  do  but  to  commence  jumping  the 
counter,  you'd  think  he'd  jump  the  house.  She 
paused,  and  I  murmured  to  Dr.  Fraser  that  she 
was  like  a  Holbein,  and  Dr.  Fraser  replied  that 
she  did  not  believe  one  word  she  said,  which  was 
rather  my  own  idea,  only  more  so.  It  appeared 
that  her  son  Peter  had,  an  hour  ago,  expelled 
the  young  lad  from  the  house  (lest  its  fair 
fame  should  be  sullied),  and  as  for  Peter,  the 

126 


ll'he  Maroan  Vony 

dear   knew   where    he  was,   she  didn't  see  him 
since. 

Miss  Longmuir  and  Andrew  here  left  the  shop, 
very  purposefully  ;  we  pursued,  and  saw  them 
open  the  gate  of  Lynch's  yard  and  stride  in. 
The  yard  was  a  small  one,  littered  with  cases  of 
bottles,  and  congested  by  the  outside  cars  and 
carts  of  race-goers ;  such  level  spaces  as  it  pos- 
sessed had  been  dug  out  of  the  side  of  the  hill, 
and  slatternly  stables  and  outhouses  were  perched 
on  the  different  levels.  Through  a  low-browed 
doorway  might  be  seen  the  horses  of  race-goers, 
standing  "  ready  dight,"  like  the  steeds  of  Brank- 
some  Hall,  with  heads  hanging,  in  resigned  de- 
pression, before  empty  ranks  and  mangers.  But 
of  the  maroan  pony  there  was  no  sign. 

Fierce  as  terriers  on  a  rat-hunt.  Miss  Long- 
muir and  Andrew  dashed  in  and  out  of  the  dark 
sheds  and  outhouses,  till  there  remained  unex- 
plored but  one  hovel,  whose  open  door  revealed 
only  semi-darkness,  edged  with  fern-litter.  None 
the  less,  the  leading  terrier  determined  to  make 
good  the  ground.  A  sharp  yelp  told  of  a  find, 
and  Miss  Longmuir  emerged,  holding  aloft  a 
new  check  horse-sheet,  with  the  initials  **  M.  L." 
large  upon  it. 

**  They  must  have  taken  her  down  to  the  race- 
course, after  all — "  I  began. 

'*  Thoughtless  of  them  to  take  her  without  her 
127 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

saddle  or  bridle,"  said  Andrew  bitingly.  "  Here 
they  are  behind  the  door !  " 

The  silence  that  followed  this  discovery  was 
broken  by  Philippa. 

*'  I  hear  some  one  snoring ! "  she  said  in  a  con- 
spirator's whisper.  "Do  come  away.  I'm  sure 
it'is  a  drunken  man.'* 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Andrew,  who  had  been  pur- 
suing his  researches.  **  Allow  me  to  introduce 
Mr.  John  Sullivan." 

In  the  dark  corner  behind  the  door  lay  a  stout 
youth,  comfortably  extended,  with  his  flushed 
face  half  hidden  in  the  dry  and  tawny  bracken, 
and  his  open  mouth  framing  long  and  quiet 
snores.  He  was  obviously  at  peace  with  all 
the  world. 

Some  heartless  assaults  on  the  part  of  Captain 
Larpent  had  no  appreciable  result,  so  inveterate 
was  the  peace,  so  potent  the  means  by  which  it 
had  been  invoked.  The  ladies  had  retired  dur- 
ing the  interview,  and,  as  we  rejoined  them  in 
the  yard,  we  all  became  aware  of  muffled  and 
thunderous  sounds  near  at  hand ;  they  were  sug- 
gestive of  a  ponderous  and  chaotic  clog-dance, 
and  proceeded  from  an  outhouse,  built  against 
the  bank  that  formed  the  upper  side  of  the  yard, 
with  its  gable  askew  to  the  other  buildings. 

*'  *  Lots  of  things  is  coor'us,'  as  Anthony  said 
when  I  told  him  about  Jonah  and  the  Whale," 

128 


The  Maroan  ^ony 

remarked  Philippa,  who,  throughout,  had  not 
taken  the  affair  as  seriously  as  it  deserved.  **  I 
suppose  the  party  that  John  Sullivan  was  at 
is  going  on  up  there." 

Miss  Longmuir  darted  round  the  gable  of  the 
house,  a  wild  and  summoning  cry  followed,  the 
call  of  the  terrier  who  has  run  his  rat  to  ground. 

We  found  her  at  the  foot  of  a  low  flight  of 
irregular  stone  steps  (in  telling  the  story  I  have 
formed  the  habit  of  saying  that  there  were  ten  . 
of  them)  that  led  to  a  doorway  in  a  loft.  In 
the  doorway,  with  a  cabbage  leaf  in  her  mouth, 
was  the  maroan  pony,  looking  down  at  us  with 
an  expression  of  mild  surprise. 

We  all  said  unanimously,  and  with  equal  futility, 
**  How — on — earth ?  " 

After  which  Andrew,  who  dislikes  miracles, 
arranged  that  she  had,  of  course,  got  into  the 
loft  from  the  back,  where  the  ground  was  high. 
Unfortunately  the  theory  did  not  work,  an  in- 
spection of  the  loft  revealing  nothing  but  four 
walls,  a  large  store  of  dried  bracken,  and  a  donkey- 
panier  filled  with  cabbages. 

"  These  mountainy  ponies  climb  like  monkeys," 
said  Philippa,  with  her  inevitable  effort  to  shelter 
the  discomfited,  as  Andrew  returned  with  the 
ruins  of  his  theory,  *'she  must  have  walked  up 
the  steps ! " 

Miss  Longmuir,  snatching  out  her  watch,  said 
129  I 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

she  didn't  care  how  the  pony  got  there,  the  point 
was  to  get  her  down  as  quickly  as  possible.  **  If 
people  would  only  do  something  and  not  talk  ! " 
she  added,  under  her  breath. 

'*  If  she  walked  up  she  can  walk  down/'  said 
Andrew  firmly. 

He  mounted  the  steps  and  took  the  pony 
by  the  halter.  The  pony  immediately  backed 
thunderously  out  of  sight,  taking  Andrew  with 
her.  Miss  Longmuir  flew  up  the  steps  to  his 
assistance,  and  unseen  sarabands  pummelled  the 
floor  of  the  loft. 

**  Go  up  and  help  them,  you  great  lazy  thing  ! " 
said  Philippa  to  me. 

"  There's  no  room  for  any  one  else,"  I  protested. 

Here  the  combatants  reappeared  in  the  door- 
way, gradually,  with  endearments  on  one  side, 
and  suspicious  snortings  on  the  other.  The  steps 
were  broad  and  not  too  intimidating  ;  the  pony 
advanced  almost  to  the  sill,  repented  in  haste, 
and  in  her  retreat  flung  Andrew  against  the 
panier  of  cabbages.  A  donkey's  panier  is  made 
to  resist  shocks ;  in  this  case  it  apparently  gave 
more  than  it  took  ;  Andrew  said  nothing,  but  he 
dragged  the  basket  over  the  sill  and  hurled  it 
down  the  steps  with  considerable  emotion.  I 
joined  the  party  in  the  loft,  and  Philippa  collected 
the  cabbages,  and  laid  them  in  rows  upon  the 
steps  as  if  it  were  a  harvest  festival,  in  the  hope 

130 


T^he  Maroan  ^ony 

of  luring  the  pony  to  the  descent.  The  lure  was 
rejected  with  indignation,  and  I  proceeded  to  offer 
a  few  plain  truths.  That  the  floor  would  come 
down  before  the  mare  did.  That  it  would  take 
six  men,  and  planks,  and  cartloads  of  straw,  to 
get  her  out.  Finally,  that  her  race  was  due  to 
start  in  twenty  minutes. 

**  We're  done,"  said  Miss  Longmuir  tragically, 
addressing  Philippa  and  Dr.  Fraser  from  the 
top  of  the  steps,  as  if  they  were  a  stage  mob. 
''These  brutes  have  beaten  us  I  Don't  you 
remember  that  Lyney's  father  said,  '  Let  ye  keep 
out  from  them  lads  in  Poundlick '  ?  And  after  all 
our  trouble,  and  the  training,  and  everything — " 
She  turned  abruptly  away  from  the  door. 

Dr.  Fraser  stood  still,  with  her  hand  to  her 
forehead,  as  though  she  were  trying  to  remember 
something.  Then  she  too  came  up  into  the  loft. 
The  pony  had  now  backed  into  the  pile  of  bracken; 
Andrew,  whose  back  teeth  were  evidently  set 
tight,  was  tugging  at  her  halter,  and  she  was 
responding  by  throwing  her  nose  in  the  air  and 
showing  the  whites  of  her  eyes. 

"  Meg,"  said  Dr.  Fraser,  at  the  doorway,  **  I've 
remembered  something  that  I  was  once  told — " 
She  peered  into  the  darkness  of  the  loft.  **  May 
I  try  ?  "  she  said,  advancing  quietly  to  the  pony's 
head. 

"By  all  means,"  said  Andrew,  as  chillingly  as 
131 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

was  possible  for  a  man  who  was  very  red  in  the 
face  and  was  draped  with  cobwebs. 

Looking  back  now  to  the  affair,  I  cannot 
remember  that  Dr.  Fraser  did  anything  in  the 
least  remarkable.  She  took  hold  of  the  halter 
with  one  hand  and  with  the  other  patted  the 
pony's  neck,  high  up,  near  the  ears.  She  also 
spoke  to  it,  the  sort  of  things  anyone  might  say. 
For  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  see  that  she  did 
more  than  anyone  else  had  done,  but  Nancy 
lowered  her  head  and  put  her  ears  forward. 

Dr.  Fraser  gave  the  halter  a  gentle  pull,  and 
said,  "  Come  on,  old  girl ! "  and  the  pony  started 
forward  with  a  little  run. 

At  the  doorway  she  stopped.  We  held  our 
breaths.  Dr.  Fraser  patted  her  again  and  placidly 
descended  the  first  step ;  the  maroan  pony  placed 
a  trembling  foot  upon  the  threshold,  steadied 
herself,  poked  her  nose  forward,  and  dropped  her 
forefeet  on  to  the  second  step. 

**  She'll  come  down  on  top  of  her ! "  said 
Andrew,  starting  forward. 

"  Don't  touch  her  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Longmuir, 
grasping  his  arm. 

With  the  tense  caution  of  an  old  dog,  the  pony 
let  herself  down  from  step  to  step,  planting  her 
little  hoofs  cunningly  on  the  rough-set  stones, 
bracing  herself  with  the  skill  learned  on  the  rocky 
staircases  of  her  native  hills.     Dr.  Fraser  kept  a 

132 


The  Maroan  Pony 

step  in  advance  of  her.  Thus,  with  slow  clatter- 
ing, and  in  deep  gravity,  they  joined  Philippa  in 
the  yard. 

Five  people  cannot  advantageously  collaborate 
in  putting  a  saddle  and  bridle  on  a  pony,  but  we 
tried,  and  in  the  grim  hustle  that  resulted  no  one 
asked  questions  or  made  comments.  Amongst 
us  the  thing  was  done,  and  there  were  still  seven 
minutes  in  hand  when  Andrew  shot  out  of  the 
yard  on  her  back.  Hard  on  her  heels  followed 
Philippa  and  Miss  Longmuir,  with  scarcely  inferior 
velocity.  I  returned  to  the  remaining  member 
of  the  party  and  found  that  she  had  seated  her- 
self on  the  steps. 

She  said  she  was  tired,  and  she  looked  it. 

**  I  daresay  getting  that  beast  down  the  steps 
was  rather  a  strain  .f^ "  I  said,  spreading  the  pony's 
rug  for  her  to  sit  on. 

**  Oh,  that  was  nothing.     Please  don't  wait  for 


me. 


I  said  in  my  best  ironic  manner  that  doctors 
were  of  course  impervious  to  fatigue,  and  indeed 
superior  to  all  human  ills. 

She  laughed.  *'  I  admit  that  I  was  rather 
nervous  that  the  thing  wouldn't  work,  or  would 
break  down  half-way." 

**  What  thing  ?  "  I  demanded.     "  The  pony  ?  " 

"No.  The  secret.  \\.is  a  secret,  you  know. 
My  grandfather  gave  Rarey  thirty  pounds  for  it. 

133 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

IVe  never  had  much  to  say  to  horses,  but  I  have 
started  a  jibbing  hansom  horse  in  Oxford  Street 
with  it."     She  laughed  again,  apologetically. 

**  You  needn't  believe  it  unless  you  like.  I 
must  say  I  was  afraid  it  mightn't  include  a  flight 
of  steps !  "  She  paused  and  put  back  her  abun- 
dant fair  hair.  **  How  hot  it  was  up  in  that  loft! 
I  wonder  if  you  could  get  me  a  glass  of  water  ?  " 

I  told  her  that  I  was  old  enough  to  believe 
anything,  but  added  that  after  what  she  had  told 
me  I  would  get  a  second  glass  of  water,  with  sal 
volatile  in  it,  for  myself. 

The  Holbein  grandmother  was  standing  at  the 
back  door  of  the  house,  with  the  baby  still  on  her 
arm.  She  and  the  baby  fetched  the  glass  of 
water.  She  said  wasn't  the  pony  a  Fright  for 
ever  after  the  way  he  came  down  them  steps,  but 
why  wouldn't  the  lady  take  him  out  through  the 
other  door  into  the  field  above  ? 

I  made  no  reply,  but  while  Dr.  Fraser  was 
drinking  the  water,  I  went  up  into  the  loft,  and 
cleared  away  the  bracken  that  had  been  piled  in 
front  of  the  **  door  into  the  field  above."  I  opened 
the  door,  and  walked  out  into  the  field,  and  viewed 
the  small  hoof-prints  that  led  to  the  door  of  the 
loft. 

I  returned  to  Dr.  Fraser,  and  very  gently  broke 
the  news  to  her. 


134 


The  Maroan  ^ony 

Of  course  Lyney  and  the  maroan  pony  won  the 
race.  Had  this  not  been  a  foregone  conclusion 
it  is  possible  that  John  Sullivan  might  have 
scored  less  heavily  in  the  matter  of  free  drinks. 

As  I  was  conducting  my  exhausted  but  trium- 
phant party  off  the  course,  the  Poundlick  Sergeant 
of  Police  met  me  and  asked  me  if  I  would  sign  a 
few  summonses  for  him,  as  he  was  after  taking 
some  parties  into  custody  for  fighting. 

**  Drunk,  I  suppose  ?  " 

The  Sergeant  admitted  it,  and  said  the  dispute 
had  arisen  between  the  Kennys  and  the  Lynches 
on  the  one  side,  and  the  partisans  of  Lyney 
Garrett  on  the  other,  out  of  "  circumstances  con- 
nected with  the  last  race."  The  Sergeant's  eye 
rested  for  an  instant,  with  what  may  be  described 
as  a  respectful  twinkle,  upon  Miss  Longmuir. 

**  It  was  mostly  heavy  offers  and  small  blows, 
Major,"  he  concluded. 

"  Look  here.  Sergeant,"  I  said  oracularly,  **  take 
them  all  to  the  water-jump.  Build  up  the  furze 
in  front  of  it.  Make  them  jump  it.  Anyone 
that  gets  over  it  may  be  considered  sober.  Any- 
one that  falls  in  will  be  sober  enough  when  he 
gets  out." 

I  have  not,  in  my  judicial  career,  delivered 
a  judgment  that  gave  more  satisfaction  to  the 
public. 


135 


VI 

MAJOR   APOLLO    RIGGS 

Part  I 

The  leave  of  Captain  Andrew  Larpent,  R.E., 
was  expiring,  dying  hard,  **in  rings  of  strenuous 
flight,"  (and  my  motor)  on  the  road  between 
Shreelane  and  Licknavar,  which  is  the  home  of 
the  Chicken  Farmers.  Philippa,  who  regards  a 
flirtation  with  an  enthusiasm  that  is  as  dis- 
interested as  it  is  inexplicable,  assured  me  that 
the  state  of  affairs  was  perfectly  unmistakable. 
She  further  said  that  the  male  determination  to 
deny  and  ignore  these  things  was  partly  sym- 
pathetic secretiveness,  partly  the  affectation  of 
despising  gossip,  and  mainly  stupidity.  She  took 
a  long  breath  after  all  this,  and,  seeing  Andrew 
approaching  along  the  garden  path  in  apparently 
romantic  meditation,  enjoined  me  to  be  nice  to 
the  poor  thing,  and  departed. 

The  sun  was  bright,  with  the  shallow  bright- 
ness of  early  October,  and  the  Virginian  creeper 
made  a  conflagration  on  the  weather-slated  end 
of  the  house.  The  poor  thing  deposited  himself 
beside  me  on  the  garden  seat.     I  noticed  that 

136 


Major  aApollo  '^Hjggs 

his  eye  rested  upon  a  white  chicken  with  a 
brilliant  scarlet  comb;  it  was  one  of  several, 
purchased  from  the  Chicken  Farmers.  I  would 
not  for  worlds  have  admitted  it  to  Philippa,  but 
there  was  undoubtedly  sentiment  in  the  glance. 

**  I  hear  they're  having  beastly  weather  at  the 
Curragh,"  he  said,  leaning  back  and  looking 
gloomily  up  into  the  melting  blue  sky.  **  Stun- 
ning that  red  stuff  looks  on  the  house !  "  He  sur- 
veyed it,  and  sighed  ;  then,  suddenly,  sentiment 
faded  from  his  glance.  **D'you  know,  old  boy, 
that  chimney  up  there  is  well  out  of  the  perpendi- 
cular.    It'll  be  down  about  your  ears  some  day." 

I  replied  that  it  had  maintained  that  angle  for 
the  seven  years  of  my  tenancy. 

"  It  won't  do  it  much  longer,"  returned  my 
guest.     **  Look  at  that  crack  in  the  plaster !  " 

"  Which  crack  ?  "  I  said  coldly.  (Mr.  Flurry 
Knox  is  my  landlord,  and  it  is  my  misfortune  to 
have  a  repairing  lease.) 

"Take  your  choice,"  said  Andrew,  scanning 
the  chimneys  with  the  alert  and  pitiful  eye  of  the 
Royal  Engineer.  **  My  money's  on  the  northern 
one,  under  the  jackdaw." 

**  Oh,  confound  you  and  the  jackdaws  !  "  I  said 
pettishly.     **  The  chimney  draws  all  right." 

But  the  matter  did  not  end  there.  Before 
luncheon,  Andrew  and  I  had  made  a  tour  of  the 

137 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

roof,  and  he  had  demonstrated  unanswerably,  and 
with  appalling  examples  from  barracks  that  he  had 
repaired  in  Central  India,  and  built  in  Wei-hai- 
Wei,  that  nothing  but  habit  and  family  feeling 
induced  any  one  of  the  chimney  stacks  to  stand  up. 

At  luncheon  he  told  Philippa  that  he  hoped 
she  would  insure  the  children  before  the  next 
westerly  gale.  Philippa  replied  by  asking  if  he, 
or  anyone  else,  had  ever  heard  of  a  chimney 
falling,  unless  it  had  been  struck  by  lightning,  in 
which  case  it  wouldn't  matter  if  it  were  straight  or 
crooked  ;  and  though  this  was  manifestly  worth- 
less as  an  argument,  neither  Andrew  nor  I  could 
remember  an  instance  in  support  of  our  case. 
That  the  case  had  now  become  mine  as  well  as 
Andrew's  was  the  logical  result  of  illogical  opposi- 
tion, and  at  Philippa's  door  I  deposit  the  responsi- 
bility for  a  winter  of  as  varied  discomforts  as  it 
has  been  our  lot  to  endure. 

The  matter  matured  rapidly.  In  the  mellow 
moment  that  comes  with  coffee  and  cigarettes,  I 
began,  almost  pleasurably,  to  lay  out  the  campaign. 

**  I  can't  see  any  point  in  wasting  money  on  a 
contractor,"  said  Andrew  airily.  "Any  of  your 
local  masons  could  do  it  if  I  explained  the  job  to 
him.     A  fortnight  ought  to  see  it  through." 

It  was  at  this  point  that  I  should  have  sat 
heavily  upon   Andrew.     I   was   not  without  ex- 

138 


Walkin'  Aisy. 


Major  nApollo  %j^g5 

perience  of  the  local  mason  and  his  fortnights ; 
what  could  Andrew  know  of  such  ?  I  had  a  brief 
and  warning  vision  of  Captain  Larpent,  seated  at 
an  office  table  adorned  with  sheets  of  perfect 
ground-plans  and  elevations,  issuing  instructions 
to  a  tensely  intelligent  Sapper  Sergeant.  I  saw 
the  Sergeant,  supreme  in  scientific  skill  (and  in- 
variably sober),  passing  on  the  orders  to  a  scarcely 
less  skilled  company  of  prompt  subordinates — but 
my  **  worser  angel "  obliterated  it.  And  that  very 
afternoon,  on  our  way  to  Aussolas,  we  chanced 
to  meet  upon  the  road  the  local  mason  himself, 
William  Shanahan,  better  known  to  fame  as 
*•  Walkin'  Aisy."  He  was  progressing  at  a  rate 
of  speed  that  accorded  with  his  sub-title,  and,  as 
I  approached  him,  a  line  of  half- forgotten  verse 
came  back : 

"  Entreat  her  not,  her  eyes  are  full  of  dreams." 

Nevertheless,  I  stopped  the  car. 

In  answer  to  enquiries,  he  mused,  with  his 
apostolic  countenance  bent  upon  the  ground ; 
after  a  period  of  profound  meditation,  he  asked 
me  why  wouldn't  I  get  one  of  the  big  fellas  out 
from  the  town  ?  I  have  never  known  Walkin' 
Aisy  to  accept  a  job  without  suggesting  that 
some  one  else  could  do  it  better  than  he  (in  which 
he  was  probably  quite  right).     This  may  have 

139 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

been  humility,  due  to  the  fact  that  his  father  had 
been  that  despised  thing,  **a  dry- wall  builder"; 
it  may  have  been  from  coquetry,  but  I  am  inclined 
to  think  it  was  due  to  a  mixture  of  other-worldli- 
ness  and  sloth. 

On  pressure  he  said  that  he  had  still  a  small 
pieceen  of  work  to  finish,  but  he  might  be  able  to 
come  down  to-morrow  to  travel  the  roof  and  see 
what  would  be  wanting  to  us,  and  on  Monday 
week,  with  the  help  of  God,  he  would  come  in  it. 
His  blue  eyes  wavered  towards  the  horizon.  The 
interview  closed. 

*'*Fair  and  young  were  they  when  in  hope 
they  began  that  long  journey,' "  cooed  Philippa, 
as  we  moved  away.  The  quotation  did  not,  as  I 
well  knew,  refer  to  our  visit  to  the  Knoxes. 

At  Aussolas  I  aired  my  project  to  my  land- 
lord. Flurry  is  not  a  person  to  whom  it  is 
agreeable  to  air  a  project. 

"  Rebuild  the  chimneys,  is  it  ?  Oh,  with  all  my 
heart.     Is  there  anything  the  matter  with  them  ?" 

Andrew  explained  the  imminence  of  our  peril, 
and  Flurry  listened  to  him  with  his  inscrutable 
eye  on  me. 

**  Well,  it'll  be  some  fun  for  you  during  the 
winter,  Major,  but  be  careful  when  you're  cutting 
the  ivy !  *' 

I  was  betrayed  into  asking  why. 
140 


Major  Apollo  %iggs 

**  Because  there's  only  it  and  the  weather-slat- 
ing keeping  the  walls  standing." 

"  If  I  may  presume  to  contradict  one  so  much 
younger  than  myself,"  said  old  Mrs.  Knox, 
**  Shreelane  is  as  well  built  a  house  as  there  is  in 
the  county."  Her  voice  was,  as  ever,  reminiscent 
of  a  bygone  century  and  society ;  it  was  also 
keen-edged,  as  became  a  weapon  of  many  wars, 
ancient  and  modern.  She  turned  to  me.  "  In 
the  storm  of  '39  I  remember  that  my  father  said 
that  if  Shreelane  fell  not  a  house  in  Ireland  would 
stand.  Every  one  in  the  house  spent  that  night 
in  the  kitchen." 

**  May  be  that  was  nothing  new  to  them," 
suggested  Flurry. 

Mrs.  Knox  regarded  her  grandson  steadfastly 
and  continued  her  story.  It  has  already  been 
noted  that  when  he  and  she  were  of  the  same 
company  they  considered  no  other  antagonist 
worthy  of  their  steel. 

"It  was  my  great-grandfather  who  built  Shree- 
lane in  honour  of  his  marriage,"  she  went  on. 
"He  married  a  Riggs  of  Castle  Riggs,  a  cousin 
of  the  celebrated  Major  Apollo — and  thereby 
hangs  a  tale ! "  She  blinked  her  eyes  like  an 
old  rat,  and  looked  round  at  each  of  us  in  turn. 
I  felt  as  if  I  were  being  regarded  through  a  tele- 
scope, from  the  standpoint  of  a  distant  century. 

141 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

"  They  knew  how  to  build  in  those  days,"  she 
began  again.  **  The  basement  story  of  Shreelane 
is  all  vaulted." 

**  I  daresay  the  kitchen  would  make  a  nice 
vault,"  said  Flurry. 

His  grandmother  looked  hard  at  him,  and  was 
silent,  which  seemed  to  me  a  rather  remarkable 
occurrence. 

On  the  following  day,  Andrew  and  Walkin' 
Aisy  "travelled  the  roof,"  and  I  accompanied 
them — that  is  to  say,  I  sat  on  the  warm  lead,  with 
my  back  against  the  sunny  side  of  a  chimney, 
and  smoked  torpidly,  while  Andrew  preached, 
firmly  and  distinctly,  from  the  top  of  a  ladder. 
Walkin'  Aisy  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder, 
submissive,  with  folded  hands,  and  upturned 
bearded  face,  looking  like  an  elderly  saint  in  the 
lower  corner  of  a  stained-glass  window.  At  the 
conclusion  of  the  lecture  he  said  that  surely  the 
chimneys  might  fall  any  minute,  but,  for  all,  they 
might  stand  a  hundred  years ;  a  criticism  almost 
stupefying  in  its  width  of  outlook. 

The  following  day  Captain  Larpent  departed  to 
the  Curragh,  and,  as  is  often  the  way  of  human 
beings  with  regard  to  their  guests,  we  partly 
breathed  more  freely,  and  partly  regretted  him. 
On  the  whole  it  was  restful. 

A  fortnight  passed,  and  I  had  almost  forgotten 
142 


Major  aApollo  '^^jggs 

about  the  chimneys ;  I  was  In  the  act  of  making 
an  early  start  for  an  absence  of  a  couple  of  days 
at  the  farther  side  of  my  district,  when  I  en- 
countered Walkin'  Aisy  at  the  hall  door. 

"  I'm  here  since  six  o'clock  this  morning,  but 
I  had  no  one  to  tend  me,"  he  began. 

I  was  familiar  with  this  plaint,  and  proffered 
him  the  yard  boy. 

**The  young  fella's  too  wake,"  replied  Walkin' 
Aisy,  in  his  slow  and  dreamy  voice,  **and  they 
takes  him  from  me."  His  mild  eyes  rested  upon 
me  in  saddened  reverie.  **  And  there  should  be 
morthar  mixed,"  he  resumed  slowly,  "  and  there's 
not  a  pick  of  gravel  in  the  yard." 

I  said,  as  I  pulled  on  my  gloves,  that  he  could 
have  Johnny  Brien  from  the  garden  to  minister 
to  him,  and  that  there  was  no  hurry  about  the 
mortar. 

*'  Well,  it's  what  I  was  saying  to  the  gardener," 
returned  Walkin'  Aisy  very  slowly,  **  I  have  no 
business  coming  here  at  all  till  those  chimneys  is 
taken  down.  The  sahmint  that's  on  them  is  very 
strong.  It's  what  the  gardener  said,  that  quarry- 
men  would  be  wanting." 

**  Why  the  devil  didn't  you  say  this  at  first  ? " 
I  demanded,  not  without  heat.  **  You  and  Cap- 
tain Larpent  told  me  that  the  old  cement  had  no 
more  hold  than  the  sugar  on  a  cake." 

143 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

''Well, the  Captain  knows  best,"  replied  Walkin' 
Aisy  gently,  "we  should  do  what  he  says." 

"Well,  get  the  chimneys  down;  I  don't  care 
who  does  it," 

I  drove  away,  and  from  the  turn  of  the  drive 
saw  Walkin'  Aisy,  in  motionless  trance,  looking 
after  the  car  as  if  it  were  a  chariot  of  fire. 

The  well-known  routine  followed ;  the  long 
and  airless  day  in  the  Court-house,  the  roar  of 
battle  of  the  rival  solicitors,  the  wearisome  itera- 
tion of  drunks  and  trespasses,  the  intricacies  of 
family  feuds  ;  the  stodgy  and  solitary  dinner  at 
the  hotel,  followed  by  the  evening  in  the  arid 
smoking-room,  the  stale  politics  of  its  habitues,  the 
stagnant  pessimism  of  the  proprietor,  the  same 
thing  over  again  next  day  and  the  day  after. 

It  was  not  until  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day 
that  I  found  myself  serenely  gliding  homeward, 
with  the  wind  behind  me,  and  before  me  the 
prospect  of  that  idleness  that,  like  the  only  thirst 
worth  having,  has  been  earned.  I  was  in  the 
straight  for  the  hall  door,  when  I  saw  my  wife 
dart  from  the  house,  gesticulating,  and  waving 
her  handkerchief  as  if  to  check  my  approach. 
She  was  followed,  at  no  great  interval,  by  an 
avalanche  of  rubble  and  bricks  from  the  roof,  that 
fell  like  a  portent  from  heaven,  and  joined  itself 
to  a  considerable  heap  by  the  steps. 

144 


Major  <iApollo  '^^iggs 

**  You  never  know  when  it's  coming ! "  she  cried 
breathlessly.  **  I've  been  watching  for  you.  It's 
impossible  to  make  them  hear  from  below,  and  I 
can't  find  any  of  the  men — they're  all  on  the  roof." 

The  restoration  had  begun,  but  that  fact  might 
not  have  occurred  to  a  stranger.  Next  day,  and 
for  many  days — six  weeks,  to  be  exact — the  house 
shook  as  from  the  blows  of  a  battering-ram,  in 
response  to  the  efforts  of  the  quarrymen  to  re- 
move from  the  chimneys  the  cement  that  had 
no  more  hold  on  them  than  the  sugar  on  a  cake, 
and  at  frequent  and  uncertain  intervals  various 
debris  rumbled  down  the  roof  and  fell  heavily 
below.  There  were  days  when  it  fell  in  front  of 
the  house,  there  were  days  when  it  fell  in  the 
flower  garden  ;  where  it  fell,  there  it  lay,  because 
there  was  no  one  to  take  it  away ;  all  were 
absorbed  in  tending  Walkin'  Aisy,  and  the 
murmurs  of  their  inexhaustible  conversation 
came  to  us  down  the  chimneys  like  the  hoarse 
cooing  of  wood  pigeons.  There  were  also  days 
when  by  reason  of  storms  and  rain  nothing 
was  done,  and  black  and  evil  floods  de- 
scended into  the  rooms  down  the  ruins  of  the 
chimneys,  and  through  the  slates,  broken  by  the 
feet  of  the  quarrymen.  At  Christmas  the 
kitchen  chimney  alone  remained  in  action,  and 
we  ate  our  Christmas  dinner  in  fur  coats  and  a 

145  K 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

fireless  dining-room.  Philippa  refrained  from 
any  allusion  to  the  quotation  from  Longfellow 
that  she  had  made  after  that  first  interview  with 
Walkin'  Aisy.  She  even  denied  herself  the 
gratification  of  adding  its  context : 

**  Faded  and  old  were  they  when  in  disappoint- 
ment it  ended,"  but  I  knew  that  she  was  think- 
ing it. 

Part  II 

It  was  somewhere  towards  the  end  of  March 
that  one  chimney  stack  re-entered  the  list  of 
combatants,  trim  in  new  cement,  and  crowned 
with  tall  and  hideous  chimney-pots.  They  all 
smoked,  a  thing  that  had  never  occurred  before, 
but  Walkin*  Aisy  said  that  the  chimneys  were 
cold,  and  that  they  wouldn't  do  it  when  they'd 
come  to  themselves  ;  and  (this  was  a  little  later 
on)  that  any  chimney  would  smoke  in  an  east 
wind.  It  was  true  that  a  period  of  east  wind 
and  drought  had  set  in.  The  pump  in  the  yard 
went  dry  ;  carts  had  to  be  sent  half  a  mile  for 
water,  and  it  was  reported  to  me  that  the 
masons  had  as  much  water  put  astray,  mixing 
mortar  and  all  sorts,  as  would  drown  a  herring. 

Other  unpleasant  things  occurred.  The  house- 
maid gave  half-an-hour's  warning,  and  married 
one  of  the  quarry  men,  and   Mrs.  Cadogan  then 

146 


Major  <iApollo  "^Rj^gs 

revealed  that  it  wasn't  once  nor  twice  during  the 
winter  that  she  had  given  that  particular  quarry- 
man  the  full  of  the  poker,  to  put  him  out  from 
under  her  feet  when  she'd  be  dishing  up  the 
dinner.  Shreelane  was  twice  drawn  blank  by 
Flurry  Knox's  hounds,  and  their  master  said 
that  as  long  as  I  had  every  idle  blackguard  in 
the  country  tending  Walkin'  Aisy,  and  making 
short  cuts  through  the  covert,  how  would  I  have 
foxes  there?  I  ignored  the  conundrum,  and 
hoped  that  the  quarryman's  yellow  dog  would 
remain  where  I  had  last  seen  him,  in  the  ashpit, 
till  Flurry  had  left  the  premises. 

It  was  some  little  time  after  this  that  Captain 
Larpent  advanced  upon  us  on  a  week's  leave 
from  the  Curragh ;  he  wrote  to  say  that  I 
evidently  wanted  a  Clerk  of  the  Works,  and 
that  he  would  see  if  he  couldn't  get  a  move  on 
Shanahan.  I  was  away  when  he  arrived,  and 
on  my  return  Philippa  met  me  in  the  hall. 

**  Meg  Longmuir  is  here ! "  she  said,  not  with- 
out a  touch  of  defiance.  **  Doctor  Catherine  had 
to  go  to  Scotland,  so  I  asked  Meg  here  for  a  few 
days.  She'll  play  duets  with  Andrew.  She's 
up  on  the  roof  with  him  now." 

"  Better  have  a  string  band  up  there  at  once,"  I 
said,  "and  open  it  as  a  public  recreation  ground.'* 

**And  the  Flurry  Knoxes  and  Bernard  Shute 
147 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

are  coming  to  dinner,"  continued  my  wife, 
ignoring  this  jeu  d' esprit;  "the  smoking-room 
chimney  is  all  right,  and  we  can  have  the  oil 
stove  and  some  music  in  the  drawing-room." 

With  this  agreeable  prospect  in  store,  we  sat 
down  to  dinner.  We  were  too  many  for  general 
conversation,  and  the  table  was  round,  which  is 
unfavourable  for  tete-h-tites.  Yet  it  was  not 
round  enough  to  frustrate  Miss  Meg  Longmuir's 
peculiar  gift  for  duets,  and  I  was  presently  aware 
that  she  was  unwarrantably  devoting  herself  to 
Bernard  Shute,  leaving  Captain  Larpent  derelict, 
and  that  the  latter  was,  after  the  manner  of  dere- 
licts, becoming  a  danger  to  navigation,  and  was 
laying  down  laws  and  arguing  about  them  acridly 
with  Mr.  Knox.  I  realised  too  late  that  there 
should  have  been  champagne.  Whisky  and  soda 
is  all  very  well,  but  it  will  not  warm  wet  blankets. 

Meg  Longmuir,  however,  was  doing  remark- 
ably well  without  either ;  she  wore  something 
intricate  that  was  either  green  or  blue  or  both, 
and  glittered.  I  recognised  it  as  the  panoply 
of  war,  and  knew  that  the  tomahawk  was  con- 
cealed in  its  folds.  So  also  was  Andrew's  scalp  ; 
I  don't  know  why  I  felt  some  pleasure  in  re- 
membering that  it  had  a  bald  patch  on  it. 

After  the  ladies  had  gone,  Bernard,  to  whose 
head  Miss  Longmuir  had  mounted  as  effectively 

148 


Major  (tApollo  ^vggs 

as  if  she  had  been  the  missing  champagne,  re- 
joined the  lesser  world  of  men  by  asking  Flurry 
why  he  had  shut  up  the  season  so  early,  and 
suggested  a  by-day,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  giving 
the  horses  something  to  do. 

Flurry  put  the  end  of  his  cigarette  into  his 
finger-glass,  and  lit  another  at  the  flaming  tongue 
of  my  tame  Chinese  dragon. 

**I  didn't  know  you  had  one  that  would  carry 
a  lady  ?  "  he  said. 

**  Oh  rot ! "  said  Bernard  helplessly. 

**  I  haven't  one  that  will  carry  myself,"  went 
on  Flurry.  **  There's  five  lame  legs  among  three 
of  them  this  minute.  Anyway  the  hounds  are 
in  sulphur." 

The  discussion  progressed  with  the  prolixity 
proper  to  such  themes ;  I  think  it  was  Andrew 
who  suggested  the  paper-chase.  He  had,  he 
said,  ridden  in  paper-chases  in  Egypt,  and  he 
gave  us  details  of  the  stark  mud  walls  and 
fathomless  water-courses  that  were  common- 
places of  these  events.  We  were  left  with  the  im- 
pression that  none  of  us  had  ever  seen  obstacles 
so  intimidating,  and,  more  than  that,  if  we  had 
seen  them  we  should  have  gone  home  in  tears. 

"  I  think  we'd  better  make  a  hare  of  you^^ 
said  Flurry,  fixing  expressionless  eyes  upon 
Captain  Larpent.     **  It  mightn't  be  hard." 

149 


In  Mr.  Knoxs  Country 

The  double  edge  of  this  suggestion  was  lost 
upon  Andrew,  who  accepted  it  as  a  tribute,  but 
said  he  was  afraid  he  didn't  know  the  country 
well  enough. 

"  That's  your  Egyptian  darkness,"  said  Flurry 
with  unexpected  erudition. 

Andrew  glanced  sideways  and  suspiciously  at 
him  over  the  bridge  of  his  sunburnt  nose,  and 
said  rather  defiantly  that  if  he  could  get  hold  of  a 
decent  horse  he  wouldn't  mind  having  a  try. 

**  I  suppose  you  ride  about  11.6?"  asked 
Flurry,  after  a  moment  or  two  of  silence.  His 
manner  had  softened  ;  I  thought  I  knew  what 
was  coming.  **  I've  a  little  horse  that  I  was 
thinking  of  parting  ..."  he  began. 

A  yell,  sharp  and  sudden  as  a  flash  of  light- 
ning, was  uttered  outside  the  door,  followed  by  a 
sliding  crash  of  crockery,  and  more  yells.  We 
plunged  into  the  hall,  and  saw  Julia,  the  elderly 
parlourmaid,  struggling  on  the  floor  amid  ruins  of 
coffee  cups  and  their  adjuncts. 

**The  rat!  He  went  in  under  me  foot!"  she 
shrieked.     "  He's  in  under  me  this  minute !  " 

Here  the  rat  emerged  from  the  ruins.  Simul- 
taneously the  drawing-room  door  burst  open,  and 
the  streaming  shrieks  of  Minx  and  her  son  and 
daughter  were  added  to  those  of  the  still  pro- 
strate Julia. 

150 


Major  (tApollo  %iggs 

The  chase  swept  down  the  passage  to  the 
kitchen  stairs,  the  pack  augmented  by  Bob,  the 
red  setter,  and  closely  followed  by  the  dinner 
party.  A  rat  is  a  poor  performer  on  a  staircase, 
and,  at  the  door  leading  into  the  turf-house,  the 
dogs  seemed  to  be  on  top  of  him.  The  bolt-hole 
under  the  door,  that  his  own  teeth  had  prepared, 
gave  him  an  instant  of  advantage  ;  Flurry  had 
the  door  open  in  a  second,  someone  snatched  the 
passage  lamp  from  the  wall,  but  it  was  obviously 
six  to  four  on  the  rat. 

The  turf-house  was  a  large  space  at  the  very 
root  of  the  house,  vaulted  and  mysterious,  bear- 
ing Shreelane  on  its  back  like  the  tortoise  that 
supports  the  world.  Barrels  draped  with  cob- 
webs stood  along  one  wall,  but  the  rat  was  not 
behind  them,  and  Minx  and  her  family  drove  like 
hawks  into  a  corner,  in  which,  beneath  a  chaotic 
heap  of  broken  furniture  and  household  debris, 
the  rat  had  gone  to  ground.  We  followed,  tread- 
ing softly  in  the  turf-mould  of  unnumbered  winters. 
We  tore  out  the  furniture,  which  yielded  itself  in 
fragments  ;  the  delirium  of  the  terriers  mounting 
with  each  crash,  and  being,  if  possible,  enhanced 
by  the  well-meant  but  intolerable  efforts  of  the 
red  setter  to  assist  them.  Finally  we  worked 
down  to  an  old  door,  lying  on  its  face  on  some- 
thing that  raised  it  a  few  inches  from  the  ground. 

151 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

**  Now  !  Mind  yourselves  !  "  said  Flurry, 
heaving  up  the  door  and  flinging  it  back  against 
the  wall. 

The  rat  bolted  gallantly,  and  darted  into  an 
old  box,  of  singular  shape,  that  lay,  half  open, 
among  the  debris,  and  there,  in  a  storm  of  tattered 
paper,  met  his  fate.  Minx  jumped  out  of  the 
box  very  deliberately,  with  the  rat  across  her 
jaws,  and  a  scarlet  bite  in  her  white  muzzle. 
With  frozen  calm,  and  a  menacing  eye  directed 
at  the  red  setter,  she  laid  it  on  the  turf  mould, 
and  stiffly  withdrew.  Her  son  and  daughter 
advanced  in  turn,  smelt  it  respectfully  and  retired. 
There  was  no  swagger  ;  all  complied  with  the 
ritual  of  fox-terrier  form  laid  down  for  such 
occasions. 

I  was  then  for  the  first  time  aware  that  the 
ladies,  in  all  the  glitter  and  glory  of  their  evening 
dresses,  had  each  mounted  herself  upon  a  barrel ; 
in  the  theatrical  gloom  of  the  vaulted  turf-house, 
they  suggested  the  resurrection  of  AH  Baba's 
Forty  Thieves. 

"  Look  where  he  had  his  nest  in  among  the 
old  letters  ! "  said  Flurry  to  Philippa,  as  she  de- 
scended from  her  barrel  to  felicitate  Minx  and  to 
condole  with  the  rat.  **  That  box  came  out  of  the 
rumble  of  an  old  coach,  the  Lord  knows  when ! " 

**  There's  some  sort  of  a  ring  in  the  floor 
152 


Major  aApollo  "^B^gs 

here,"  said  Andrew,  who  was  rooting  with  a 
rusty  crowbar  in  the  turf-mould  where  the  door 
had  lain.     "  Bring  the  light,  someone " 

The  lamp  revealed  a  large  iron  ring  which  was 
fixed  in  a  flat  stone ;  we  scraped  away  the  turf- 
mould  and  found  that  the  stone  was  fastened 
down  with  an  iron  bar,  passing  through  a  staple 
at  either  end,  and  padlocked. 

**As  long  as  I'm  in  this  place,"  said  Flurry, 
"  I  never  saw  this  outfit  before." 

"  There's  a  seal  over  the  keyhole,"  said  Andrew, 
turning  over  the  padlock. 

**That  means  it  was  not  intended  it  should  be 
opened,"  said  Meg  Longmuir  quickly. 

I  looked  round,  and,  bad  as  the  light  was,  I 
thought  her  face  looked  pale. 

Andrew  did  not  answer  her.  He  poised  the 
crowbar  scientifically,  and  drove  it  at  the  padlock. 
It  broke  at  the  second  blow,  releasing  the  bar. 

*'  No  trouble  about  that !  "  he  said,  addressing 
himself  to  the  gallery,  and  not  looking  at  Miss 
Longmuir.  "  Now,  then,  shall  we  have  the  flag 
up?" 

There  were  only  two  dissentients  ;  one  was 
Flurry,  who  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
said  he  wasn't  going  to  destroy  his  best  evening 
pants  ;  the  other  was  Miss  Longmuir,  who  said 
that  to  break  an  old  seal  like  that  was  to  break 

153 


In  Mr,   Knox's   Country 

luck.  She  also  looked  at  Andrew  in  a  way  that 
should  have  gone  far  to  redress  the  injuries 
inflicted  during  dinner.  Apparently  it  did  not 
suffice.  Captain  Larpent  firmly  inserted  the  end 
of  the  bar  under  the  edge  of  the  flag.  Bernard 
Shute  took  hold  of  the  ring. 

**  All  together !  "  said  Andrew. 

There  was  a  moment  of  effort,  the  flag  came 
up  abruptly,  and,  as  abruptly,  Bernard  sat  down 
in  the  turf-mould  with  the  flag  between  his  legs. 
The  crowbar  slipped  forward,  and  vanished  with 
a  hollow-sounding  splash  down  a  black  chasm ; 
Andrew,  thrown  off  his  balance,  also  slipped 
forward,  and  would  have  followed  it,  head  first, 
had  not  Flurry  and  I  caught  him. 

The  chasm  was  a  well,  nearly  full ;  the  water 
twinkled  at  us,  impenetrably  black ;  it  made  me 
think  of  the  ink  in  the  hollowed  palm  of  a  native 
who  had  told  my  fortune,  up  at  Peshawar. 

"  That  was  about  as  near  as  makes  no  differ- 
ence !  "  said  Bernard.  "  You've  cut  your  cheek, 
Larpent." 

**Have  I?"  said  Andrew  vaguely,  putting  up 
a  rather  shaky  hand  to  his  face.  "  I  think  my 
head  took  the  edge  of  the  well." 

We  covered  the  hole  with  the  old  door,  and 
Andrew  was  taken  away  to  have  his  wound 
attended  to.     It  was  not  a  severe  wound,  but  the 

154 


Major  aApollo  '^^jggs 

process  was  lengthy,  and  involved  the  collabora- 
tion of  all  the  ladies.  It  seemed  to  the  three 
neglected  males,  waiting  for  a  fourth  to  play- 
bridge,  that  this  mobilisation  of  ministering 
angels  was  somewhat  overdone. 

Andrew  came  down  to  breakfast  next  morning 
with  a  headache,  and  said  he  had  slept  badly. 
Had  he  discovered  the  source  of  the  Nile  in 
the  turf-house  the  night  before,  my  wife  and 
Miss  Longmuir  could  not  have  been  more  adula- 
tory and  sympathetic,  nor  could  the  projects,  based 
upon  the  discovery,  have  been  more  ambitious.  I 
went  forth  to  my  work  and  to  my  labour  without 
so  much  as  a  dog  to  wave  me  farewell ;  all  were 
in  the  turf-house,  surrounded  by  visionary  force- 
pumps,  bath-rooms,  and  even  by  miraged  fountains 
in  the  garden. 

When  I  drove  the  car  into  the  yard  on  my 
return  that  afternoon,  I  was  confronted  by  a  long 
chestnut  face  with  a  white  blaze,  looking  at  me 
out  of  the  spare  loose- box — the  face,  in  fact,  of 
"the  little  horse"  of  whom  Flurry  had  spoken 
to  Andrew.  There  was  also,  added  to  the  more 
familiar  heaps  of  mortar,  gravel,  and  stones,  a 
considerable  deposit  of  black  and  evil-smelling 
sludge.  It  seemed,  as  was  not  uncommonly  the 
case,  that  a  good  many  things  had  been  happen- 
ing during  my  absence.     The  stone  floor  of  the 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

hall  was  stencilled  with  an  intricate  pattern  of 
black  paw-marks,  and  was  further  decorated  with 
scraps  of  torn  paper ;  a  cold  stench  pervaded  the 
smoking-room  (which  was  situated  above  the 
turf-house) ;  far  away,  a  sound  as  of  a  gramophone 
in  the  next  world  indicated  that  Captain  Andrew*s 
affaire  de  coeur  was  finding  an  outlet  in  song. 

I  followed  the  sounds  to  the  drawing-room,  and 
found  Andrew  and  Miss  Longmuir  at  the  piano, 
in  a  harmony  obviously  world-forgetting,  though 
not  likely  to  be  by  the  world  forgot.  Philippa 
was  sitting  by  the  oil  stove,  and  was,  I  hope, 
deriving  some  satisfaction  from  inhaling  its  fumes, 
its  effect  upon  the  temperature  being  negligible. 

Andrew's  song  was  a  Hungarian  ditty,  truculent 
and  amorous,  and  very  loud ;  under  cover  of  it 
my  wife  told  me  that  he,  assisted  by  Walkin'" 
Aisy  and  the  quarrymen,  and  attended  by  Miss 
Longmuir,  had  baled  out  the  newly  discovered 
well,  and  that  the  quarrymen  had  exacted  whisky 
to  sustain  them  during  the  later  stages  of  the 
process,  and  that  the  sludge  would  be  ideal  for 
the  roses.  They  believed  the  well  was  filling 
again  beautifully,  but  they  had  to  leave  it  be- 
cause Flurry  came  over  with  the  horse  for  Andrew 
for  the  paper-chase,  and  Andrew  and  Meg  went 
out  schooling. 

"  What  paper-chase  .»* "  I  interpolated  coldly. 
156 


Major  zApollo  '^Riggs 

"Oh,  they've  got  one  up  for  Monday,"  said 
Philippa  airily.  **  The  children  have  been  tearing 
up  paper  all  day.  I  found — rather  with  horror — 
that  Flurry  had  given  them  those  old  letters  out 
of  the  turf-house  to  tear  up — I  said  you  and  I 
would  ride,  of  course  " — she  looked  at  me  with 
apprehension  veiled  by  defiance,  and  I  said  it 
was  thoughtful  of  her. — **  But  I  want  to  tell  you 
about  old  Mrs.  Knox,"  she  said,  hurrying  on. 
"  She  told  Flurry  that  the  well  had  never  been 
used  since  the  time  of  the  Famine,  when  they 
got  up  a  soup-kitchen  here,  and  the  day  after  they 
opened  the  well  she  said  the  servants  flew  in  a 
body  out  of  the  house,  like  wild  geese  ! " 

"  I  don't  wonder,  if  it  smelt  as  it  does  now,"  I 
said.     *'  Was  that  why  they  flew  ?  " 

"  Flurry  said  he  didn't  know  what  lifted  them. 
But  Flurry  never  says  he  doesn't  know  unless  he 
does  know  and  doesn't  want  to  tell ! " 

The  following  day  was  Saturday,  and  for  the 
first  time  for  many  weeks  a  Sabbath  stillness 
prevailed  on  the  roof  Walkin'  Aisy  was  absent ; 
no  explanation  was  forthcoming,  and  I  diagnosed 
a  funeral  in  the  neighbourhood.  It  was  on 
Sunday  afternoon  that  I  was  roused  from  my 
usual  meditation — consequent  upon  Sunday  roast 
beef — by  the  intelligence  that  Mrs.  William 
Shanahan  wanted  to  speak  to  me.     Mrs.  Shanahan 

157 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

was  a  fair  freckled  woman,  with  a  loud  voice  and 
a  red  face  and  the  reputation  of  ruling  Walkin' 
Aisy  with  a  rod  of  iron.  It  appeared  that 
Walkin'  Aisy  was  confined  to  his  bed  ;  that  he 
had  had  a  reel  in  his  head  after  getting  home 
on  Friday,  and  that  whatever  work  it  was  that 
young  gentleman  gave  him  to  do,  he  wasn't  the 
better  of  it. 

**And  he  was  as  wake  in  himself  and  as 
troubled  in  his  mind  as  that  he  couldn't  walk  to 
Mass.  I  told  him  he  should  mind  the  chickens 
while  I'd  be  out,  and  when  I  came  in  the  dog 
had  three  of  me  chickens  dead  on  the  floor,  and 
where  was  himself,  only  back  in  the  room,  and 
he  kneeling  there  with  the  two  hands  up,  sayin' 
his  prayers!  *  What  ails  ye?'  says  I,  *ye  old 
gommoch,  that  ye'd  let  the  dog  kill  me  chickens  ? ' 
*  Sure,  I  was  sayin'  me  prayers,'  says  he ;  *  That 
the  Lord  mightn't  hear  your  prayers ! '  says  I. 
God  forgive  me,  I  had  to  say  it ! " 

I  recalled  her  to  the  question  of  the  chimneys, 
pointing  out  that  the  gable  chimney  was  half 
down,  and  could  not  be  left  as  it  was. 

To  this  Mrs.  Walkin'  Aisy  replied  at  great 
length  that  William's  father  had  given  him  an 
advice  not  to  go  in  it,  and  that  the  father  was 
dark  these  scores  of  years,  and  it  was  what  he 
blamed  for  it  was  the  work  he  done  in  Shreelane 

158 


Major  Apollo  "^RJ^gs 

House  in  the  time  of  the  Famine.  It  was  after 
that  the  sight  went  bandy  with  him. 

She  dedined  to  offer  any  opinion  as  to  when 
Walkin'  Aisy  would  return  to  work,  and  withdrew, 
leaving  me  to  consider  my  position  under  the 
Employers'  Liability  Act  in  the  event  of  her 
husband's  demise,  and  to  wish,  not  for  the  first 
time,  that  Andrew  (now  strolling  at  his  ease  with 
Miss  Longmuir,  reviewing  a  course  for  the  paper- 
chase),  had  been  at  Jericho,  or  any  other  resort  of 
the  superfluous,  before  he  interfered  with  the  tran- 
quil progress  of  the  chimneys  towards  dissolution. 

There  were  strange  lapses  at  dinner, — delays, 
omissions,  disasters,  and  Julia  the  parlourmaid 
had  a  trembling  hand  and  a  general  suggestion 
of  nerve-storm.  After  dinner  it  was  reported  to 
Philippa  that  Anthony  was  not  well,  and  after  a 
prolonged  absence  she  returned  with  the  informa- 
tion that  he  had  had  a  nightmare,  and  that  there 
was  a  rumour  in  the  house  that  all  the  servants 
were  going  to  give  warning  the  following  morn- 
ing. Their  reason  for  this  was  obscure,  but  was 
somehow  connected  with  Mrs.  Walkin'  Aisy's 
visit,  and  the  fact  that  the  swing-door  leading  to 
the  turf-house  had  opened  and  shut  twice,  of  its 
own  volition.  We  did  not  mention  these  matters 
to  our  guests,  and  retired  to  rest  in  perturbation. 
I  admit  that  at  some  time  during  the  night,  which 

159 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

was  a  still  one,  I  heard  the  turf-house  door  groan 
on  its  hinges,  and  slam.  I  went  downstairs  and 
found  nothing  ;  it  was  certainly  unusual,  however, 
that  Bob,  the  red  setter,  had  abandoned  his  lair 
in  the  smoking-room,  and  was  spending  the  night 
on  the  mat  outside  my  dressing-room  door. 

Next  morning  Philippa,  considering  that  a  thrust 
was  better  than  a  parry,  held  a  court  of  enquiry 
in  the  lower  regions,  and,  according  to  her  own 
report,  spoke  seriously  on  the  grave  responsibility 
incurred  by  those  who  frightened  other  people 
about  nonsense.  Julia's  version  of  the  proceed- 
ings, I  heard  at  a  later  date.  She  said  that  *'  the 
Misthress  spoke  to  us  lovely,  and  the  Priest 
couldn't  speak  better  than  her.  She  told  us  that 
the  divils  in  hell  wasn't  worse  than  us." 

Part  III 

It  has  been  said  of  Ireland  that  the  inevitable 
never  happens,  and  that  the  impossible  invariably 
occurs.  When  on  Monday  morning  I  learned 
that  Flurry  was  to  be  one  of  the  hares,  and  beheld 
him  mounted  on  his  best  horse,  as  covered  with 
bags  as  a  postman  on  Christmas  Day,  I  recalled 
the  epigram.  Another  confirmation  of  the  law 
of  the  unexpected  was  the  fact  that  Meg  Long- 
muir,    on   the    "  maroan "    pony,   was  his  fellow 

i6o 


Major  <i4pollo  '^lijggs 

hare,  very  smart,  much  elated,  and  quite  unaware 
that  she  had  been  substituted  for  Sally  Knox  at 
the  last  moment,  in  order  that  she  might  be  as  a 
millstone  hung  round  the  neck  of  Flurry.  That 
this  arrangement  was  not  what  Captain  Larpent 
had  desired  was  sufficiently  apparent  to  the  naked 
eye  :  why  Flurry  submitted  to  it  was  less  obvious. 

About  a  dozen  riders  had  been  whipped  up  to 
take  part  in  this  preposterous  affair,  and  were 
standing  about  on  the  grass  in  front  of  Shreelane, 
cutting  up  the  turf  as  much  as  the  hardness  of 
the  ground  would  permit,  and  making  as  much 
noise  as  a  pack  of  hounds  at  feeding  time.  The 
April  sun  glared  hot,  the  better  part  of  a  north- 
easterly gale  was  blowing,  the  horses  had  over- 
eaten themselves  with  the  bread  of  idleness,  and 
were  fat  and  frisky. 

*'  Is  he  any  good  ?"  said  Flurry  to  me  in  a  low 
voice,  with  his  eye  on  Andrew,  who  was  sitting, 
shrouded  in  gloom  and  remoteness,  on  the  chest- 
nut horse. 

'*  Ask  Miss  Longmuir,"  I  said.  "  She  was 
schooling  with  him  on  Saturday." 

"  I'll  have  plenty  to  do  minding  her,  without 
asking  her  questions  that  she  couldn't  answer,"  re- 
turned Flurry.  He  resumed  his  survey  of  Andrew. 
**  I  wonder  will  he  be  able  to  hold  that  horse  in  a 
snaffle  ?     He  catches  hold  an  odd  time." 

i6?  L 


In  Mr.  Knoxs  Country 

"Stand  by!"  said  Doctor  Hickey,  his  watch 
in  his  hand.  *'  Fifteen  seconds  more  before  the 
hares  start ! " 

"Well,  if  Larpent  goes  as  big  as  he  talks, 
he'll  do,"  said  Flurry,  gathering  up  his  reins. 

The  ten  minutes  of  grace  ebbed  slowly  away, 
and  preposterous  though  I  still  held  the  affair  to 
be,  I  do  not  deny  that  I  was  aware  of  an  inward 
simmering  of  impatience. 

"I'll  have  the  face  worn  off  my  watch  looking 
at  it  if  you  don't  let  us  start  soon !  "  said  Miss 
Larkie  McRory  to  Hickey. 

She  was  mounted  on  a  long-legged  animal  that 
had  been  summarised  by  Flurry  as  "the  latter 
end  of  a  car-horse,"  and  was  certainly  in  need  of 
all  the  time  it  could  get. 

"  Don't  excite  yourself  now,  or  I'll  be  having 
to  order  you  a  cooling  draught !  "  returned  the 
Doctor,  but  I  perceived  that  he,  in  common  with 
everyone  else,  was  edging  his  horse  towards  the 
point  of  departure. 

"Go!" 

In  the  riot  of  the  break-away,  I  was  able  to 
think  of  nothing  but  of  keeping  Daniel  from 
bucking  me  over  his  head,  but  during  the  hustle 
at  the  avenue  gates  I  observed  Andrew  riding 
off  Bernard,  and  getting  to  the  front  with  pale 
and  ferocious  determination.     The  ** scent"  took 

162 


Major  aApollo  ^'ggs 

us  along  the  road ;  we  followed  it  over  a  stony 
bank  and  across  two  fields,  at  steeplechase  pace, 
and  then  it  ceased.  By  this  time  any  lingering 
sense  of  absurdity  had  ceased  also.  We  cast 
ourselves  feverishly,  like  hounds  ;  we  galloped 
great  circles ;  someone  found  the  paper  again, 
and  yelled  like  a  maniac.  We  all  yelled  in 
response,  a  variety  of  yells,  from  "  Tally  Ho  "  to 
**  Cooee,"  as,  like  Bedlam  let  loose,  we  rushed  to 
the  discoverer.  We  were  up  on  high  land  now, 
and  the  wind  was  whirling  in  our  ears,  snatching 
our  voices  away  to  infinity,  and  blowing  up  the 
temperatures  of  horses  and  riders  like  a  bellows. 
It  had  caught  away  the  torn  paper  and  flung  it  to 
leeward,  into  furze  brakes,  against  the  sides  of 
the  banks,  and  checks  were  many,  and  the  horses, 
convinced  that  the  hounds  were  somewhere 
ahead,  pulled  double.  In  the  bare  fields,  with 
their  scanty  April  grass,  everything  showed  up  ; 
we  were  deceived  by  white  stones,  by  daisies,  by 
dandelion  puff-balls,  by  goose-feathers;  most  of 
all  we  were  deceived  by  country-people,  whom, 
I  have  no  doubt.  Flurry  had  instructed  to  mis- 
lead us. 

We  had  had  a  long  check,  consequent  on  a 
false  trail,  when,  three  fields  away,  Andrew  held 
up  his  hat. 

"  Look  at  him  now,  running  mute ! "  giggled 
163 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

Sally  Knox  in  my  ear,  as  we  battered  down  a 
road.  **  He's  too  cross  to  shout.  He's  frantic 
because  he's  not  the  hare,  and  Meg  Longmuir 
was  sent  with  Flurry !  And  poor  Flurry,  who's 
going  such  a  nice  safe  line ! " 

"  I  suppose  we  may  thank  Miss  Longmuir  for 
the  safe  line?  "  I  responded  with  some  difficulty, 
because  Daniel  was  enjoying  himself  on  the  road, 
according  to  the  idiotic  manner  of  horses. 

"  No !  You  may  thank  the  chestnut  horse  !  '* 
ejaculated  Flurry  Knox's  wife,  as  she  hoisted 
out  of  the  road  over  a  loose  wall. 

Remembering  that  Andrew  was  intended  to 
buy  the  chestnut  horse,  the  deduction  was  a 
simple  one.  It  was  also  quite  clear  that,  dis- 
appointing as  it  might  be,  and  contrary  to  the 
most  cherished  convention,  Andrew  was  going 
as  big  as  he  talked,  and  even  bigger. 

*'  *  Them  that's  in  love  is  like  no  one ' ! "  I 
quoted  to  Mrs.  Flurry,  as  Captain  Larpent, 
taking  the  shortest  way  to  a  drift  of  paper  on 
a  hillside,  charged  a  tall,  furze-tufted  fence,  and 
got  over  with  a  scramble.  We  followed,  less 
heroically,  by  a  gap,  and  ascended  the  hill,  with 
the  torn  paper  scurrying  in  front  of  us  in  the  gusty 
wind.  We  had  now  been  going  for  thirty-five 
minutes,  and  were  all,  horses  and  riders,  something 
blown ;  Miss  Larkie's  car-horse  could  have  been 

164 


Major  Apollo  '^I{iggs 

heard  down-wind  for  half  a  mile,  and  I  would  have 
backed  Daniel  to  out-roar  any  lion  in  the  den. 

Nothing  but  the  checks  held  us  together. 
Doctor  Hickey,  and  Irving,  the  District  Inspec- 
tor, were  taking  the  matter  seriously,  and  were 
riding  hard  to  catch  Andrew,  for  the  honour  of 
the  country.  Bernard  Shute  and  two  or  three 
other  heavy-weights  were  afoot,  dragging  their 
dripping  horses  over  a  bank  with  an  up-hill  take 
off;  Miss  McRory  and  the  car-horse  were  making 
an  extremely  gradual  progress  in  the  rear,  and 
Philippa  had  pulled  back  to  give  her  leads,  with 
an  unselfishness  that  was  not  only  futile,  but  was 
also  a  reproach  to  me  and  my  fellow-men. 

We  had  been  going  in  a  big  ring,  and  from 
the  top  of  the  hill  we  could  again  see  Shreelane, 
below  us  among  its  trees.  It  was  there  also 
that  we  caught  the  first  sight  of  the  hares,  now 
heading  for  home  and  safety.  The  wind  had 
strengthened  to  half  a  gale,  and  the  wild  and 
composite  yell  with  which  the  hounds  viewed 
their  quarry  was  blown  back  into  their  throats. 
The  maroan  pony  had  fulfilled  her  mission  as  a 
handicap  ;  twice  we  saw  Flurry  dismount  and  pull 
down  a  gap  ;  once,  at  a  bank,  he  got  behind  her 
and  whipped  her  over  like  a  peg-top.  Another 
field  took  them  to  the  high  road.  A  puff  of 
white  paper  fluttered  out,   and   Miss  Longmuir 

165 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

looked  back  and  flourished  a  defiant  whip ;  they 
turned,  and  galloped  in  a  cloud  of  dust  along 
the  road  for  Shreelane. 

It  was  not  a  nice  hill  to  get  down  in  a  hurry, 
and  I  should  think  the  chestnut  horse  dreams 
of  it  now,  somewhere  in  the  level  English  Mid- 
lands, after  he  has  over-eaten  himself  on  fat 
English  oats.  For  my  part,  I  remembered  a 
humble  but  useful  path,  that  links  a  little  group 
of  cottages  with  the  rest  of  the  world. 

The  paper  lay  thick  on  the  road  in  the  shelter 
of  the  fences ;  everyone  began  to  ride  for  a 
finish,  and  after  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  pounding 
in  the  dust  at  the  heel  of  the  hunt,  I  considered 
that  Daniel  and  I  had  satisfied  the  demands  of 
honour,  and  ignobly  turned  in  at  the  back  way 
to  the  stable  yard,  permitting  the  chase  to  sweep 
on  to  the  front  gates  without  me. 

In  the  stable  yard  I  found  several  objects  of 
interest.  The  hares  were  there,  dismounted, 
very  hot,  and  uncaptured  ;  Mrs.  Knox  was  there, 
seated  in  her  phaeton  ;  there  was  a  cluster  of 
servants  at  the  back  door ;  there  were  McRorys, 
leaning  on  bicycles  ;  there  was  Cecilia  Shute,  in 
her  motor,  with  unknown  rank  and  fashion  bil- 
lowing in  motor  veils  beside  her. 

All  were  gazing  at  a  mass  of  sooty  bricks  and 
shattered  chimney-pots  that  lay,  scattered  wide, 

i66 


Major  aApollo  "^I^jggs 

in  and  about  the  black  dredgings  of  the  turf- 
house  well. 

"  That's  the  gable  chimney,"  said  Flurry  coolly ; 
"  it  got  tired  of  waiting  for  Walkin'  Aisy.  We 
heard  the  roar  of  it  as  we  came  in  the  front 
gate!"  He  turned  his  mail-bag  upside  down  so 
that  its  ultimate  dregs  were  blown  far  and  wide. 
*'  How  did  the  chestnut  horse  go  with ?  " 

As  if  in  reply,  hoofs  clattered  outside  the  yard, 
and  the  white  nose  of  the  chestnut  shot  into 
the  opening  of  the  yard  gate.  He  plunged  past 
me,  with  Andrew  lying  back  and  tugging  at  the 
snaffle.  The  Shreelane  yard  was  fairly  spacious, 
but  I  began  to  think  that  the  thing  wasn't  as 
funny  as  it  looked.  The  horse  swerved  at  Mrs. 
Knox's  phaeton,  swerved  again  as  Flurry  turned 
him  from  his  stable  door  with  a  flourish  of  the 
mail-bag.  Andrew  wrenched  his  head  straight 
for  the  open  back  gate,  and  might  have  got 
him  out  without  disaster,  had  not  the  widespread 
ruin  of  the  chimney  intervened.  The  chestnut 
once  more  tried  to  swerve,  his  legs  went  from 
under  him,  and  he  fell,  striking  fire  from  the 
cobble  stones  of  the  yard.  Andrew  stuck  to 
him  to  the  last  instant,  but  was  shot  clear,  and 
was  flung,  head  first,  into  the  heap  of  stones 
and  black  mud. 


167 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

It  seemed  long,  long  hours  between  this  cata- 
strophe, and  a  sufficient  subsidence  of  things  in 
general,  for  me  to  be  able,  without  inhumanity, 
to  envisage  a  whisky  and  soda.  Old  Mrs.  Knox 
watched  me  with  approval. 

**  I'm  tired  of  looking  at  young  men  drinking 
tea,"  she  commented.  (It  was  Mrs.  Knox's  pleas- 
ing idiosyncrasy  to  look  upon  me  as  a  young  man.) 
**  They  were  like  a  pack  of  curates  at  a  school- 
feast  !  Not  that  I  was  ever  at  a  school-feast,  thank 
God ! "  she  added,  with  an  abandoned  chuckle. 

We  were  sitting  in  a  corner  of  the  dining-room, 
surrounded  by  empty  cups  and  crumby  plates  ; 
tides  of  tea  and  of  talkers  had  ebbed  and  flowed, 
but  Mrs.  Knox  had  sat  on — to  hear  my  personal 
report  of  Andrew,  she  said. 

*' Upon  my  honour,  he  escaped  very  well!  A 
dislocated  shoulder  is  nothing,  and  the  young  lady 
is  there  to  *  tend  the  wounded  Deloraine  ! '  " 

She  paused,  and  put  her  head  on  one  side,  as 
if  waiting  for  the  prompter.     **  How  does  it  go  ? 

*  She  thought  some  spirit  of  the  sky  had  done  the 
bold  mosstrooper  wrong ! '  " 

She  paused  again,  and  looked  at  me  ;  the  even- 
ing light  shone  on  her  spectacles,  and  made  them 
impenetrable. 

"Now  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  piece  of  advice  ; 

*  And  I'll  not  take  it ! '  says  Major  Yeates,  R.M. !  " 

i68 


Major  aApollo  '^^iggs 

I  protested  that  I  had  said  nothing  of  the  kind. 
She  prodded  me  in  the  knee  with  a  goblin  finger. 

**  Close  that  well!  Put  on  the  flagstone,  and 
seal  it  down  again  ! "  She  fumbled  in  her  shawls, 
and  pulled  out  a  thin  old  gold  chain.  "  Here's 
the  seal,  the  same  one  that  my  father  sealed  it 
with  at  the  time  of  the  Famine !  " 

I  said  that  I  was  ready  to  do  anything  that  she 
told  me,  but  it  would  be  interesting  to  know  why. 

Mrs.  Knox  detached  the  seal  from  her  chain,  to 
which  it  was  knotted  by  something  that  I  darkly 
suspected  to  be  a  bit  of  bootlace.  It  was  a  cor- 
nelian seal,  made  in  the  grand  manner ;  massively 
wrought,  the  gold  smooth  from  age. 

**  I  daresay  you  never  heard  of  Major  Apollo 
Riggs  ?  He  drove  up  to  this  house  one  fine  day 
in  a  coach-and-four.  Next  day  the  coach-and- 
four  drove  away,  but  Major  Apollo  Riggs  was 
not  in  it!" 

**  He  found  himself  a  success  at  Shreelane  ?  "  I 
suggested. 

**  Not  so  much  with  his  host  as  his  hostess ! " 
returned  Mrs.  Knox  portentously. 

**  A  duel  ?  "  I  asked. 

**  He  was  never  seen  again,  my  dear!"  replied 
Mrs.  Knox.  (There  are  moments,  in  Ireland, 
when  this  term  of  affection  is  used  not  so  much 
affectionately  as  confidentially.) 

169 


In  Mr,  Knoxs  Country 

At  this  point  the  door  opened.  Mrs.  Knox 
put  the  goblin  finger  on  her  lips,  as  Philippa, 
still  in  her  habit,  slid  into  the  room. 

*'The  patient  and  Meg  are  extremely  self- 
sufficing,"  she  said,  dropping  into  a  chair.  **  His 
face  is  turning  all  colours  of  the  rainbow,  and  one 
eye  has  disappeared,  but  the  other  is  full  of  ex- 
pression and  is  fixed  on  Meg ! " 

" There's  not  much  colour  about  you"  I  said. 
**  You  ought  to  have  a  whisky  and  soda." 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Philippa,  waving  me  away  ; 
**  we've  got  most  of  the  black  stuff  out  of  his  hair ; 
even  his  waistcoat  pocket  was  full  of  it !  And 
bits  of  the  torn  paper  had  stuck  to  it,  like 
confetti." 

"  That  suggests  a  wedding,'*  I  observed. 

"  Quite,"  said  Philippa.  **  But  the  absurd  thing 
was  that  one  of  the  confetti — obviously  a  bit  of 
those  old  letters  that  the  children  tore  up — had 
the  word  *  Apollo'  on  it !  It  was  stuck  on  to 
him  like  a  label." 

Mrs.  Knox  clasped  her  hands,  and  lay  back  in 
her  chair. 

"  I  said  it  was,  of  course,  a  tribute  to  his  beauty, 
but  Meg  was  not  at  all  amused.  She  thought  it 
was  '  lese  majesty,'  " 

**  She'll  get  over  that  in  time,"  I  said,  putting 
the  seal  in  my  pocket. 

170 


James. 


VII 

WHEN    I    FIRST    MET    DR.    HICKEY 

There  was  a  wonderful  chandelier  in  the  hotel 
dining-room.  Fine  bronze  it  was  made  of,  with 
mermaids,  and  Tritons,  and  dolphins  flourishing 
their  tails  up  towards  the  dingy  ceiling-paper, 
and  beaked  galleys,  on  whose  prows  sat  six  small 
lamps,  with  white  china  receptacles  for  paraffin, 
and  smoky  brown  chimneys.  Gone  were  the 
brave  days  when  each  prow  had  borne  a  galaxy 
of  tall  wax  candles ;  the  chandelier  might  con- 
sider itself  lucky  in  that  it  had  even  the  paraffin 
lamps  to  justify  its  existence,  and  that  it  still 
hung  from  a  ceiling,  instead  of  sharing  the  last 
resting-place  of  its  twin  brother,  in  the  bed  of  the 
tidal  river  under  the  hotel  windows. 

James,  the  hotel  waiter,  knew  the  family 
history  of  the  chandelier,  as  he  knew  that  of  most 
people  and  things  in  the  county.  I  commented 
upon  it  to  a  young  gentleman  with  a  pointed 
beard,  who  sat  next  to  me  at  dinner,  and  said 
that  it  looked  to  me  like  Renaissance.  The 
young  gentleman  suggested,  alternatively,  that  it 
looked  more  like  bronze.     I  did  not  dispute  the 

171 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

point,  but  I  think  he  found  the  subject  precarious, 
as  he  turned  to  the  young  lady  on  his  left,  and  I 
heard  him  embark  upon  a  new  theme. 

"  I  was  half  dead  with  the  toothache  all  day," 
he  observed. 

The  young  lady  replied  sympathetically  that 
toothache  was  a  fright. 

"  Well,  indeed,  that's  true,"  said  James, 
smoothly  entering  the  conversation  from  behind 
my  chair.  **  I  got  my  own  share  of  it.  Sure 
there  was  one  time  I  used  to  be  roaring  like  a 
Banshee  all  night  with  it." 

"  Were  you  so  ? "  said  the  gentleman,  with  a 
wink  at  me.  "  That  must  have  been  a  long 
time  ago,  James." 

**  Well,  indeed,  it  is  too.  Doctor,"  replied  James 
meditatively,  "going  on  forty  years,  I  daresay. 
I  went  to  Dublin,  and  I  went  to  a  great  dentist 
that  was  in  it  that  time,  and  he  pulled  all  the 
teeth  I  had,  and  he  gave  me  a  new  set  entirely." 

**Oh,  my!"  said  the  young  lady,  "that  must 
have  been  very  expensive." 

"  It  was  so,"  said  James,  not  without  pride. 
"  Twenty  pounds  I  gave  him." 

**  That  was  awful,"  said  the  young  lady,  feel- 
ingly ;  "  it  was  well  to  be  you  that  had  it  to 
spend." 

"  Well,  it  wasn't  all  out  so  bad,"  said  James ; 
172 


When  I  First  Met  Dr.  Hickey 

"  sure  I  only  wore  them  a  few  times — I  wouldn't 
be  bothered  with  them,  and  a  doctor  that  was  a 
friend  of  mine  gave  me  ten  pounds  for  them." 

*'  I  suppose  they  were  a  fit  for  a  patient  of 
his  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

**They  were  a  bad  fit  for  me,  anyway,"  re- 
turned James,  glancing  over  his  shoulder  at  the 
clattering  operations  of  his  two  female  sub- 
ordinates, with  the  eye  of  the  sergeant-major — 
the  eye  that  always  contains  a  grievance.  **  I 
was  a  footman  with  the  old  Lord  Garretmore 
that  time.  Sure  that  was  where  the  chandelier 
came  from.  A  grand  house  it  was,  too — big 
slobs  of  marble  on  the  tables,  and  gold  legs 
under  them,  and  ye'd  bog  to  the  knees  in  the 
carpets.  Well,  it  was  the  first  night  after  me 
getting  the  teeth,  there  was  a  gentleman  stayed 
for  dinner,  and  he  was  to  go  away  by  the  night 
train.  Forty  horses  were  in  the  stables,  and 
there  wasn't  one  but  was  out  at  grass,  and  I 
had  to  go  out  beating  the  bushes  for  an  old 
mare  that  was  round  the  house  always,  herself 
and  her  foal,  to  put  her  under  the  side  car. 
*  Prua !  Prua ! '  says  I,  calling  the  mare  in  the 
dark,  and  with  that  the  teeth  lepped  out  of  my 
mouth,  with  respects  to  you ! " 

**Oh,  fie!"  said  the  mother  of  the  young 
lady. 

173 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

**  What  did  you  do  then,  James?"  inquired  the 
Doctor. 

**  I  took  the  white  tie  off  me,  and  I  tied  it  to 
the  bush  that  was  next  me,  for  a  token,  and 
'twas  that  way  I  got  them  again  the  next  morn- 
ing, thanks  be  to  God." 

Having  concluded  his  story,  James  started  on 
a  perfunctory  tour  of  the  table  with  the  wine 
card.  He  stopped  to  pull  the  turf  fire  together, 
and,  with  a  furtive  eye  at  the  glass  over  the 
chimney-piece,  he  rearranged  the  long  lock  of 
hair  that  draped  his  bald  pate.  It  was  dyed, 
of  that  peculiar  shade  of  chestnut  that  disdains 
subterfuge,  and  the  fact  and  its  suggestions  were 
distressing  where  an  old  servant  was  concerned ; 
so  also  was  the  manner  in  which  he  hobbled  on 
his  heels. 

**  His  walk's  full  of  corns,"  said  the  young 
doctor,  eyeing  him  not  without  sympathy.  "He's 
a  great  old  character.  I  believe  they  keep  him 
here  to  talk  to  the  tourists." 

It  is  a  melancholy  fact  that  in  Ireland,  in  these 
later  days,  "characters"  have  become  aware  of 
their  position,  and  palpably  live  up  to  their  repu- 
tation.    But  James  was  in  a  class  of  his  own. 

I  said  didactically,  even  combatively,  that 
*'  characters  "  were  free  and  easy,  but  that  James 
was  easy  without  being  free. 

174 


When  I  First  Met  Dr.  Hickey 

**  I'll  bet  he's  not  easy  in  his  feet,  anyhow  !  " 
said  the  Doctor  brutally.  **  Have  you  any  more 
soup  there,  James  ?  " 

The  mother  of  the  young  lady,  who  had  hither- 
to preserved  a  silence,  broken  only  by  the  audible 
assimilation  of  her  soup,  here  laid  down  her  spoon 
and  said  in  cryptic  disparagement : 

**Tin!" 

"Well,  I'd  say  it  was  the  best  we  had  yet,'* 
said  the  Doctor.  "  I'd  undertake  to  pull  a  puppy 
through  distemper  with  it." 

**  That's  the  soup  she  has  always  for  th'assizes," 
said  James.  **  Grand  soup  it  is,  and  I  declare  to 
ye,  she  makes  it  out  of  e.gg  shells  and  every  old 
rubbish  ! " 

The  young  lady's  mother  emitted  a  short  laugh, 
but  her  empty  soup-plate  told  heavily  against 
her. 

The  meal  wore  slowly  on.  A  sea  fish,  of  a 
genus  unknown  to  me,  and  amazingly  endowed 
with  bones,  was  consumed  in  distracted  silence. 

**  I  hear  you  have  a  fish  shop  opened  in  Balli- 
nagar,  Mrs.  M'Evoy,"  remarked  the  Doctor, 
taking  his  last  fish  bone  out  of  action  with  pro- 
fessional adroitness,  and  addressing  the  mother 
of  the  young  lady,  **  That's  very  up-to-date. 
There  wasn't  one  I  met  from  Ballinagar  but  was 
bragging  of  it." 

175 


In  Mr,   Knox^s  Country 

"  It  was  the  Hoolahanes  that  had  it,"  said  Mrs. 
M'Evoy.     "  It's  closed." 

"  Oh  dear,  why  so  }  "  said  the  Doctor.  **  Why 
did  they  do  that,  I  wonder  }  " 

"  They  said  that  morning,  noon,  and  night 
people  were  bothering  them  for  fish,"  returned 
Mrs.  M*Evoy,  to  whom  this  triumph  of  the 
artistic  temperament  presented  no  exceptional 
feature. 

**  Unless  it  might  be  on  a  fast  day,  I'd  never 
ask  to  taste  a  bit  of  fish,"  remarked  James,  giving 
a  helping  hand  to  the  conversation.  **  There 
was  a  man  I  knew  from  this  place  got  his  death 
in  Liverpool  from  a  bit  of  fish.  It  stuck  to  the 
upper  gum.  *  Bill,'  says  he  to  the  one  that  was 
with  him,  *  so  help  me  God,'  says  he,  *  I'm  dyin',' 
says  he ;  and  sure  that's  how  he  met  his  death ! 
It  was  in  some  grand  hotel  he  was,  and  he  was 
too  shy  to  give  the  puff  to  send  out  the  bit." 

**rd  like  to  send  that  to  the  *  B.M.J.',"  said 
the  Doctor  gravely.  "  Maybe  you  could  give 
me  the  man's  name,  James  ?  " 

"  There  was  them  that  could  swear  to  it,"  said 
James,  depositing  a  syphon  on  the  table  in  a 
determined  manner,  '*  but  they  were  before  your 
day,  Doctor  Hickey." 

"How  young  he  is!"  said  Miss  M'Evoy 
archly.     *'  Don't  be  flattering  him,  James." 

176 


When  I  First  Met  Dr.  Hickey 

"  Indeed  I'll  not  flatter  him,"  returned  James, 
"there's  plenty  doing  that." 

It  was  at  about  this  point  that  a  dish  containing 
three  roast  ducks  was  placed  in  front  of  me. 
Circumstances  had  decreed  that  I  sat  at  the  end 
of  the  table  ;  it  was  my  task  to  deal  with  the 
ducks,  and  during  the  breathless  and  steamy 
struggle  that  ensued,  I  passed  out  of  the  con- 
versation, which,  indeed,  had  resolved  itself  into 
a  more  personal  affair  between  Dr.  Hickey  and 
Miss  M'Evoy. 

It  was  somewhere  in  the  reposeful  period  that 
came  with  the  cheese,  that  Dr.  Hickey  ordered  a 
bottle  of  port,  of  which  he  very  handsomely  in- 
vited the  ladies  and  me  to  partake.  He  leaned 
back  in  his  chair. 

**  Was  this  in  the  cellar  the  time  of  the  flood  ?  " 
he  said,  putting  down  his  glass.  *'  I  don't  mean 
Noah's  flood,  James ;  you  mightn't  remember 
that ;  but  the  time  the  river  came  up  in  the  town 
here." 

"If  it  was  Noah's  flood  itself,"  said  James, 
instantly  accepting  combat,  "  it  couldn't  get  into 
our  cellars.  But,  faith,  it  was  up  in  this  room 
you're  sitting  in,  and  I  had  to  get  up  on  the  table 
from  it,  and  it  ruz  to  the  table,  and  I  had  to  hang 
out  of  the  chandelier,  and  a  boat  came  into  the 
room  then  and  took  me  out.     Sure  that  was  the 

^77  M 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

time  that  the  porpoise  came  up  the  river,  with 
the  dint  of  the  flood,  and  she  was  in  it  for  a  week, 
in  front  of  the  hotel." 

"In  compliment  to  the  visitors,  I  suppose?" 
said  the  Doctor.  "And  what  happened  her, 
James?" 

"  She  was  in  it  till  a  whale  came  up  the  river," 
replied  James,  with  the  simplicity  of  Holy  Writ, 
**and  b'Jove  he  banished  her!" 

"  It's  a  wonder  you'd  let  him  treat  a  lady  that 
way,  James,"  said  Dr.  Hickey. 

It  was  still  twilight  when  we  left  the  dining- 
room,  and  strayed  to  the  open  hall  door,  and  out 
into  the  September  evening.  In  the  east  a  rose- 
pink  moon  was  rising  in  lavender  haze,  and  a 
faint  wind  blew  from  it ;  the  subtle  east  wind  of 
September,  warmed  by  its  journey  across  the 
cornfields,  turf-scented  by  the  bogs.  There  was 
a  narrow  garden  between  the  hotel  and  the  river, 
a  place  where  were  new  and  already-neglected 
flower-beds,  and  paths  heavy  with  coarse  river 
gravel,  and  grass  that  had  been  cut,  not  too 
recently,  with  a  scythe.  A  thatched  summer- 
house  completed  the  spasmodic  effort  of  the 
hotel  to  rise  to  smartness.  The  West  of  Ireland 
cannot  be  smart,  nor  should  any  right-minded 
person  desire  that  it  should  be  so. 

Dr.  Hickey  and  I  sat  and  smoked  on  the 
178 


When  I  First  Met  Dr.  Hickey 

parapet  wall  above  the  river,  while  the  slated  and 
whitewashed  town  darkened  into  mystery.  Little 
lights  came  slowly  out,  and  behind  the  town  the 
grey  shape  of  Dreelish  mountain  lowered  in  un- 
compromising abruptness,  a  brooding  presence, 
felt  rather  than  seen.  In  the  summer-house 
James  was  lighting  a  Chinese  lantern,  of  a 
somewhat  crumpled  and  rheumatic  outline. 

"  Well,  now,  that's  a  great  notion ! "  said 
Dr.  Hickey,  with  the  lethargic  and  pessi- 
mistic humour  of  his  type.  *'  That'll  be  in  the 
prospectus — '  Hotel  grounds  illuminated  every 
night.'  I  wonder  did  they  buy  that  at  the 
Jumble  Sale  after  the  Fancy  Fair  in  the  Town 
Hall?" 

We  sat  there,  and  the  moon  and  the  round 
red  Chinese  lantern  looked  at  each  other  across 
the  evening,  and  had  a  certain  resemblance,  and 
I  reflected  on  the  fact  that  an  Irishman  is  always 
the  critic  in  the  stalls,  and  is  also,  in  spirit, 
behind  the  scenes. 

**  Look  at  James  now,"  said  the  Doctor. 
**  He's  inviting  the  ladies  out  to  have  coffee  in 
the  summer-house.  That's  very  fashionable.  I 
suppose  we  should  go  there  too." 

We  sat  with  Mrs.  and  Miss  M'Evoy  in  the 
summer-house,  and  drank  something  that  was 
unearthly  black  in  the  red  light,  and  was  singu- 

179 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

larly  unsuggestlve  of  coffee.  The  seats  were 
what  is  known  as  "rustic,"  and  had  aggressive 
knobs  in  unexpected  places  ;  the  floor  held  the 
invincible  dampness  of  the  West,  yet  the  situation 
was  not  disagreeable.  At  the  other  side  of  the 
river  men  were  sitting  on  a  wall,  and  talking, 
quietly,  inexhaustibly  ;  now  and  then  a  shout  of 
laughter  broke  from  one  of  them,  like  a  flame 
from  a  smouldering  fire. 

**  These  lads  are  waiting  to  go  back  on  the 
night  mail,"  said  the  Doctor;  **you  wouldn't 
think  they're  up  since  maybe  three  this  morning 
to  come  in  to  the  fair." 

Here  a  railway  whistle  made  a  thin  bar  of 
sound  somewhere  out  under  the  low  moon,  that 
had  now  lifted  herself  clear  of  the  haze.  A  voice 
called  from  the  hill-side  : 

**Hora-thu!  Tommeen!  Let  yee  be  coming 
on!" 

The  men  tumbled  on  to  the  road,  and  hurried, 
heavy-footed,  in  the  direction  of  the  station. 

"  Sure,  they've  half  an  hour  yet,  the  creatures," 
said  Mrs.  M'Evoy. 

"They  have,  and  maybe  an  hour  before  they 
have  the  pigs  shunted,"  said  James,  re-entering 
with  a  plate  of  biscuits,  adorned  with  pink  and 
white  sugar. 

"  Ah !  what  signifies  half  an  hour  here  or  there 
i8o 


When  I  First  Met  Dr.  Hickey 

on  this  line!"  said  Dr.  Hickey.  "I'm  told 
there  was  a  lady  travelling  on  it  last  week,  and 
she  had  a  canary  in  a  cage,  and  the  canary  got 
loose  and  flew  out  of  the  window,  and  by  George, 
the  lady  pulled  the  communication  cord,  and 
stopped  the  train  !  " 

**  Well,  now,  she  showed  her  sense,"  said  Mrs. 
M'Evoy,  with  an  utterance  slightly  muffled  in 
pink  biscuit. 

**She  and  the  guard  went  then  trying  to 
catch  the  canary,"  continued  Dr.  Hickey,  "and 
he'd  sit  till  they'd  get  near  him,  and  then  he'd 
fly  on  another  piece.  Everyone  that  was  in  the 
train  was  hanging  out  of  it,  and  betting  on  it, 
from  one  carriage  to  another,  and  some  would 
back  the  lady  and  some  would  back  the  bird, 
and  everyone  telling  them  what  to  do." 

**  It's  a  pity  you  weren't  in  it,"  said  Miss 
M'Evoy,  "  they'd  have  been  all  right  then." 

"  It  was  that  bare  bit  of  bog  near  Bohirmeen," 
pursued  Dr.  Hickey,  without  a  stagger,  "not  a 
tree  in  it.  *  If  he  have  a  fly  left  in  him  at  all,' 
says  a  chap  out  of  a  Third  Smoker,  *  ye'U  get 
him  in  Mike  Doogan's  bush.'  That  was  the 
only  bush  in  the  country." 

"  'Twas  true  for  him,"  said  James. 

"  Well,  they  got  him  in  the  bush,"  proceeded 
Dr.    Hickey,    "singing    away    for   himself;    but 

i8i 


In  Mr.  Knoxs  Country 

they  had  some  trouble  crossing  the  drains.  Tm 
told  the  guard  said  the  lady  lepped  like  a 
horse ! " 

**You  had  it  right,  all  to  the  singing,"  com- 
mented Mrs.  M'Evoy,  advancing  as  it  were  to 
the  footlights.  **  I  have  the  little  bird  upstairs 
this  minute,  and  she  never  sang  a  note  yet ! " 

Mrs.  M'Evoy  here  permitted  herself  to  sub- 
side into  fat  and  deep-seated  chuckles,  and  Miss 
M'Evoy,  James,  and  I  gave  way  suitably  to  our 
feelings. 

"Well,  now,  I  thought  it  was  a  nice  idea,  the 
canary  to  be  singing,"  said  Dr.  Hickey,  emerging 
from  the  situation  as  from  a  football  scrimmage, 
in  which  he  had  retained  possession  of  the 
ball.  "The  next  time  I  tell  the  story,  I'll  leave 
that  out,  and  I  can  say  that  the  lady  that  lepped 
like  a  horse  was  Mrs.  M'Evoy.  They'll  believe 
me  then.'* 

"Why  wouldn*t  you  say  the  canary  was  an 
eagle?"  said  Miss  M'Evoy.  "There  used  to  be 
plenty  eagles  in  these  mountains  back  here." 

"  Well,  indeed,  I  might  too,'*  said  Dr.  Hickey. 
"  I  remember  it  was  somewhere  in  these  parts 
that  an  uncle  of  mine  was  staying  one  time,  and 
a  man  came  to  the  hotel  with  an  eagle  to  sell  to 
the  tourists.  My  uncle  was  like  Mrs.  M*Evoy 
here,  he  was  very  fond  of  birds;  and  the  man 

182 


When  I  First  Met  Dr.  Hickey 

said  the  eagle'd  be  a  lovely  pet.  Whatever  way 
it  was,  he  bought  it."  He  paused  to  light  a 
cigarette,  and  James  pretended  to  collect  the 
coffee  cups. 

"He  gave  the  eagle  to  the  Boots  to  mind  for 
him,"  resumed  the  Doctor,  "  and  the  Boots  put  it 
into  an  empty  bedroom.  It  wasn't  more  than 
seven  o'clock  next  morning  when  my  uncle  was 
wakened  up,  and  the  waiter  came  in.  'There's 
a  man  in  the  kitchen,  your  honour,'  says  he,  *  and 
he  has  a  great  fighting  aigle,  and  he  says  he'll 
fight  your  honour's  aigle  in  the  passage.'  They 
had  a  grand  fight  between  the  two  o'  them  in  the 
spare  room,  and  in  the  end  my  uncle's  eagle  went 
up  the  chimney,  and  the  man's  eagle  went  out 
through  the  glass  in  the  window.  My  uncle  had 
a  nice  bill  to  pay  for  all  that  was  broken  in  the 
room,  and  in  the  end  he  gave  the  eagle  to  the 
Zoo." 

**  Faith,  he  did  not !  "  shouted  James  suddenly. 
**  He  left  him  stuck  in  the  chimbley !  And  sure 
it  was  I  that  got  him  out,  and  meself  that  sold 
him  to  a  gentleman  that  was  going  to  Ameriky. 
Sure,  I  was  the  waiter ! " 

Dr.  Hickey  threw  himself  back  in  his  rustic 
chair. 

**  Holy  smoke !  This  is  no  place  for  me,"  he 
said  ;  "  every  story  I  have  is  true  in  spite  of  me." 

183 


In  Mr.   Knox^s  Country 

Soon  afterwards  the  ladies  went  to  bed,  and 
Dr.  Hickey  and  I  smoked  on  for  a  time.  He 
explained  to  me  that  he  was  here  as  "locum" 
for  a  friend  of  his  ;  it  wasn't  much  of  a  catch,  but 
he  was  only  just  after  passing  for  his  Medical, 
and  you'd  nearly  go  as  locum  for  a  tinker's  dog 
after  you  had  three  years'  grinding  in  Dublin  put 
in.  This  was  a  God-forsaken  sort  of  a  hole,  not 
a  hound  within  fifty  miles,  nor  anyone  that  would 
know  a  hound  if  they  saw  one,  but  the  fishing 
was  middling  good.  From  this  point  the  con- 
versation flowed  smoothly  into  channels  of  sport, 
and  the  dual  goals  of  Dr.  Rickey's  ambition 
were  divulged  to  me. 

"  There  was  a  chap  I  was  at  school  with — 
Knox  his  name  was — that  has  a  little  pack  of 
foxhounds  down  in  the  South,  and  he's  as  good 
as  promised  me  I'm  to  whip  in  to  him  if  I  can 
get  the  Skebawn  Dispensary  that's  vacant  now, 
and  I  might  have  as  good  a  chance  of  it  as 
another." 

My  own  ambitions  were  also,  at  the  moment, 
dual,  being  matrimonial,  with  a  Resident  Magis- 
tracy attached,  but  I  did  not  feel  it  necessary  to 
reveal  them.  I  mentioned  that  I  was  having  a 
day's  fishing  here  on  my  way  to  Donegal  to 
shoot  grouse,  but  did  not  add  that  Philippa,  to 
whom  I  was  newly  engaged,  was  implicated  in 

184 


When  I  First  Met  Dr.  Hickey 

the  grouse  party,  still  less  that  it  was  my  intention 
to  meet  her  the  next  afternoon  at  Carrow  Cross 
Junction,  an  hour  away,  and  proceed  with  her  to 
the  home  of  her  uncle,  an  hour  or  so  further  on. 

**  You  might  have  three  hours,  or  maybe  four, 
to  wait  at  Carrow  Cross,"  said  Dr.  Hickey,  as  if 
tracking  my  thought ;  "  why  wouldn't  you  drive 
out  to  the  Sports  at  Carrow  Bay  ?  It's  only  four 
miles,  and  there's  a  Regatta  there  to-morrow, 
and  when  the  tide  goes  out  they  have  races  on 
the  sands.  I  believe  there's  a  trotting-match 
too,  and  an  exhibition  of  crochet." 

It  did  not  seem  to  me  that  I  wanted  to  go  to 
Carrow  Bay,  but  it  was  not  necessary  to  say  so. 

Trucks  at  the  station  were  banging  into  their 
neighbours,  with  much  comment  from  the  engine  ; 
I  thought  of  Tommeen  and  his  comrades,  up 
since  3  a.m.,  and  still  waiting  to  get  home,  and 
it  suggested  the  privileges  of  those  who  could 
go  to  bed. 

It  was  over  a  whisky  and  soda  in  the  heavily 
reminiscent  atmosphere  of  the  smoking-room 
that  Dr.  Hickey  told  me  he  was  going  to  take 
the  ladies  to  the  Sports,  and  mentioned  that 
there  would  be  a  train  at  eleven,  and  a  spare  seat 
on  the  car  from  Carrow  Cross.  It  required  no 
special  effort  to  see  the  position  that  I  was  to 
occupy  in  relation  to  Mrs.  M'Evoy;  I  followed 

185 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

the  diplomatic  method  of  my  country ;  I  looked 
sympathetic,  and  knew  certainly  that  I  should 
not  be  there. 

I  leaned  out  of  my  window  that  night,  to  look  at 
the  river,  with  the  moon  on  it,  hustling  over  the 
shallows,  and  thought  of  the  porpoise,  who  had 
been  so  unchivalrously  banished  by  the  whale. 
I  also  wondered  when  the  English  post  got  in. 
I  was  presently  aware  of  a  head  projecting  from 
a  window  just  below,  and  a  female  voice  said,  as 
if  in  continuance  of  a  conversation  : 

"We  should  coax  James  for  the  cold  duck  to 
take  with  us." 

**  That's  a  good  idea,"  replied  the  rotund  voice 
of  Mrs.  M'Evoy;  ** we'll  get  nothing  out  there 
that  a  Christian  could  eat,  and  there  might  be 
that  gentleman  too."  (That  gentleman  closed 
one  eye.)  *'  Come  in  now,  Ally  !  There's  an  east 
wind  coming  in  that  would  perish  the  crows." 

The  guillotine  slam  of  the  sash  followed.  The 
river  warbled  and  washed  through  the  stillness ; 
its  current  was  not  colder,  more  clear,  than  **  that 
gentleman's"  resolve  that  he  would  not  grace 
the  luncheon  party  at  Carrow  Bay  Sports. 

I  breakfasted  late  and  in  solitude,  ministered 
to  by  one  of  the  female  underlings  of  James  ;  the 
voice  of  James  himself,  I  heard  distantly,  in  war 
and  slaughtering,  somewhere  behind  the  scenes. 

1 86 


When  I  First  Met  Dr.  Rickey 

The  letter  that  I  wanted  had  not  failed  me,  and 
I  smoked  a  very  honeyed  cigarette  over  it  in  the 
garden  afterwards.  A  glimpse  of  Dr.  Hickey  at 
the  hotel  door  in  a  palpably  new  tie,  and  of  Mrs. 
and  Miss  M'Evoy  in  splendour  in  the  hall,  broke 
into  my  peace.  I  quietly  but  unhesitatingly  got 
over  the  wall  of  the  garden,  and  withdrew  by 
way  of  the  river  bank. 

When  the  1 1  o'clock  train  had  left  I  returned 
to  the  halcyon  stillness  of  the  hotel ;  my  own 
train  left  at  1.30;  it  was  a  time  favourable,  and 
almost  attractive,  for  letter  writing.  As  I  wrote, 
I  heard  the  voice  of  James  demanding  in  thunder 
where  was  Festus  O' Flaherty,  and  why  hadn't 
he  the  chickens  plucked.  A  small  female  voice 
replied  that  the  Doctor  and  the  ladies  had  left 
their  lunch  after  them,  and  that  Festus  had  run 
up  to  the  station  to  try  would  he  overtake  them 
with  it,  and  the  thrain  was  gone. 

"  And  if  it  was  themselves  they  left  after  them," 
retorted  James,  still  in  thunder,  "  what  was  that 
to  him  ?  " 

To  this  conundrum  no  answer  was  attempted ; 
I  bestowed  upon  Mrs.  M'Evoy  some  transient 
compassion,  and  she  and  her  company  departed, 
hull  down,  below  the  horizon  of  my  thoughts. 

A  few  hours  afterwards,  I  trod  the  solitudes  of 
Carrow  Cross  Junction,  and  saw  the  train  that  had 

187 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

brought  me  there  bend  like  a  caterpillar  round 
a  spur  of  hill,  and  disappear.  When  I  looked 
round  again  the  little  bookstall  was  shuttered  up, 
and  the  bookstall  lady  was  vanishing  down  a 
flight  of  steps  ;  the  porter  had  entrenched  himself 
in  the  goods  store ;  the  stationmaster  was  with- 
drawn from  human  ken  with  the  completeness 
only  achievable  by  his  kind.  I  was  suspended 
in  space  for  three  hours,  and  the  indifference  of 
my  fellow-creatures  was  unconcealed.  A  long 
walk  to  nowhere  and  back  again  was  the  obvious 
resource  of  the  destitute. 

The  town  of  Carrow  Cross  lay  in  a  hollow  be- 
low the  station,  with  the  blue  turf  smoke  stagnant 
above  its  muddle  of  slate  and  thatched  roofs ;  I 
skirted  it,  and  struck  out  into  the  country.  I  did 
not  find  it  attractive.  Potato  fields  in  September 
are  not  looking  their  best ;  there  were  no  trees, 
and  loose,  crooked  walls  overran  the  landscape. 
The  peak  of  Dreelish  mountain  was  visible,  but 
the  dingy  green  country  rose  high  between  me 
and  it,  like  the  cope  on  the  neck  of  a  priest.  I 
walked  for  an  hour;  I  sat  on  a  wall  and  read 
Philippa's  letter  again,  and  found,  with  a  shock, 
that  I  had  only  one  cigarette  left.  A  fatuous 
fear  of  missing  the  train  turned  me  back  in  the 
direction  of  the  station,  slightly  hungry,  and  pro- 
foundly bored.     I  came  into  the  town  by  a  con- 

i88 


When  I  First  Met  Dr,  Hickey 

vent,  and  saw  the  nuns  walking  flowingly  in  twos, 
under  chestnut  trees ;  asceticism  in  its  most 
pictorial  aspect,  with  the  orange  leaves  and  the 
blue  September  haze,  and  the  black  robes  and 
white  headgear.  I  wondered  how  they  managed 
to  go  on  walking  neatly  to  nowhere  and  back 
again  with  such  purpose,  and  if  they  felt  as  jaded 
as  I,  and  as  little  enlivened  by  the  environs  of 
Car  row  Cross. 

The  town  was  an  unprepossessing  affair  of  two 
or  three  streets,  whitewash  and  thatch  squeezed 
between  green  and  gold  pubs,  like  old  country- 
women among  fashionable  daughters.  Every- 
thing was  closed ;  as  I  looked  along  the  empty 
street  an  outside  car  drawn  by  a  dun  pony  turned 
into  it  at  high  speed,  the  pony  forging  with  a 
double  click-clack.  As  the  car  swung  towards 
me  some  one  flourished  a  stick,  some  one  else  a 
red  parasol. 

**We  got  a  bit  tired  waiting  for  the  sports," 
Dr.  Hickey  said,  as  he  assisted  Mrs.  M*Evoy  to 
alight  at  a  house  labelled  Lynch's  Railway  Hotel, 
in  royal  blue;  **it  seemed  that  the  tide  wasn't 
going  out  as  fast  as  the  Committee  expected.  It 
might  be  another  hour  or  more  before  the  race- 
course would  be  above  water,  and  we  thought  we 
might  as  well  come  on  here  and  get  something  to 
eat  at  the  Hotel." 

189 


In  Mr.  Knoxs  Country 

"  It  has  the  appearance  of  being  closed,"  said 
Mrs.  M'Evoy,  in  a  voice  thinned  by  famine. 

"  That  might  be  a  fashion  it  has  in  the  after- 
noon, when  themselves  does  be  at  their  dinner," 
said  the  car-driver. 

The  front  door  was  certainly  closed,  and  there 
was  neither  knocker  nor  bell,  nothing  but  a  large 
well-thumbed  keyhole.  Dr.  Hickey  hammered 
with  his  stick  ;  nothing  happened. 

"They're  gone  to  the  races  so,"  said  the  car- 
driver. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  it  seemed  that  I 
could  hear  the  flagging  beat  of  Mrs.  M'Evoy's 
heart. 

"  Wait  awhile,"  said  Dr.  Hickey  ;  "  the  window 
isn't  bolted ! " 

The  sill  was  no  more  than  two  feet  from  the 
ground,  the  sash  yielded  to  pressure  and  went 
up  ;  Dr.  Hickey  dived  in,  and  we  presently  heard 
him  assail  the  front  door  from  inside. 

It  was  locked,  and  its  key  had  apparently  gone 
to  the  races.  I  followed  Dr.  Hickey  by  way  of 
the  window,  so  did  Miss  M'Evoy;  we  pooled 
our  forces,  and  drew  her  mamma  after  us  through 
the  opening  of  two  foot  by  three,  steadily,  as  the 
great  god  Pan  drew  the  pith  from  the  reed. 

We  found  ourselves  in  a  small  sitting-room, 
almost  filled  by  a  table  ;  there  was  a  mature  smell 

190 


When  I  First  Met  Dr,  Hickey 

of  cabbage,  but  there  was  nothing  else  to  suggest 
the  presence  of  food.  We  proceeded  to  the 
nether  regions,  which  were  like  a  chapter  in  a 
modern  realistic  novel,  and  found  a  sickly  kitchen 
fire,  the  horrid  remains  of  the  Lynch  family 
breakfast,  an  empty  larder,  and  some  of  the  home 
attire  of  the  race-goers,  lying,  as  the  tree  lies, 
where  it  fell. 

**  There's  a  sort  of  a  butcher  in  the  town,"  said 
Dr.  Hickey,  when  the  search-parties  had  con- 
verged on  each  other,  empty-handed,  **  maybe 
we  could  cook  something " 

**  If  it  was  even  a  bit  of  salt  pork — "  said  Mrs. 
M'Evoy,  seizing  the  poker  and  attacking  the 
sleepy  fire. 

**  Let  you  get  some  water,  and  Til  wash  the 
plates,"  said  Miss  M'Evoy  to  Dr.  Hickey. 

I  looked  at  my  watch,  saw  that  I  had  still  an 
hour  and  a  half  to  play  with,  and  departed  to 
look  for  the  butcher. 

Neither  by  sign-board  nor  by  shop  front  did 
the  Carrow  Cross  butcher  reveal  himself.  I  was 
finally  investigating  a  side  street,  where  the 
houses  were  one-storeyed,  and  thatched,  and 
wholly  unpromising,  when  a  heavy  running  step, 
that  might  have  been  a  horse's,  thundered  be- 
hind me,  and  a  cumbrous  pale  woman,  with  the 
face   of  a   fugitive,  plunged  past  me,  and  burst 

191 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

in  at  a  cottage  door  like  a  mighty  blast  of  wind. 
A  little  girl,  in  tears,  thudded  barefooted  after 
her.  The  big  woman  turned  in  the  doorway, 
and  shrieked  to  me. 

**  Thim's  madmen,  from  th*  Asylum  !  Come 
inside  from  them,  for  God's  sake !  " 

I  looked  behind  me  up  the  street,  and  saw  a 
small,  decorous  party  of  men,  flanked  by  a  couple 
of  stalwart  keepers  in  uniform.  One  of  the  men, 
a  white-faced  being  in  seedy  black,  headed  them, 
playing  an  imaginary  fiddle  on  his  left  arm,  and 
smiling  secretly  to  himself.  Whether  the  lady 
had  invited  me  to  her  house  as  a  protector,  or 
as  a  refugee,  I  did  not  know :  she  herself  had 
vanished,  but  through  the  still  open  door  I  saw, 
miraculously,  a  fragment  or  two  of  meat,  hang- 
ing in  the  interior.  I  had  apparently  chanced 
upon  the  home  of  the  Carrow  Cross  butcher. 

A  greasy  counter  and  a  chopping-block  put 
the  matter  beyond  doubt ;  I  beat  upon  an  inner 
door ;  a  wail  of  terror  responded,  and  then  a 
muffled  voice : 

"Come  in  under  the  bed  to  me,  Chrissie, 
before  they'd  ketch  ye  I " 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  take  from  a 
hook  a  grey  and  white  fragment  that  looked  like 
bacon,  place  half-a-crown  on  the  counter,  and 
depart  swiftly. 

192 


When  I  First  Met  Dr,  Hickey 

**  I  gave  a  few  of  the  Asylum  patients  leave 
to  go  to  the  Sports,"  said  Dr.  Hickey,  a  little 
later,  when  we  were  seated  between  the  large 
bare  table  and  the  wall  of  the  little  sitting-room, 
with  slices  of  fried  pork  weltering  on  our  plates. 
*'  I  saw  the  fellow  waltzing  down  the  street. 
Ah!  he's  fairly  harmless,  and  they've  a  couple 
o'  keepers  with  them  anyway." 

**The  only  pity  was  that  you  left  the  half- 
crown,"  said  Mrs.  M*Evoy;  **a  shilling  was  too 
much  for  it." 

Mrs.  M'Evoy  was  considerably  flushed,  and 
had  an  effective  black  smear  on  her  forehead, 
but  her  voice  had  recovered  its  timbre.  There 
was  a  tin  of  biscuits  on  the  table,  there  was  a  * 
war-worn  brown  teapot,  and  some  bottles  of 
porter ;  it  was  now  four  hours  since  I  had 
eaten  anything;  in  spite  of  the  cold  and  clear 
resolve  of  the  night  before,  I  was  feeding, 
grossly  yet  enjoyably,  with  Dr.  Hickey  and  his 
friends. 

"This  is  a  Temperance  Hotel  for  the  past 
year,"  remarked  Dr.  Hickey,  delicately  knock- 
ing off  the  head  of  a  porter  bottle  with  the 
sitting-room  poker.  **  That's  why  it  was  up- 
stairs I  found  the  porter.  I  suppose  they  took 
the  corkscrew  to  the  Sports  with  them." 

"  How  did  they  lose  the  license  at  all .?"  said 
193  N 


In  Mr,  Knoxs  Country 

Mrs.  M'Evoy  ;  **  I  thought  there  wasn't  a  house 
in  Carrow  Cross  but  had  one." 

"It  was  taken  from  them  over  some  little 
mistake  about  selling  potheen,"  replied  Dr. 
Hickey,  courteously  applying  the  broken  neck 
of  the  bottle  to  Mrs.  M'Evoy's  tumbler.  "The 
police  came  to  search  the  house,  and  old  Lynch, 
that  was  in  bed  upstairs,  heard  them,  and  threw 
a  two-gallon  jar  of  potheen  out  of  the  top  back 
window,  to  break  it.  The  unlucky  thing  was 
that  there  was  a  goose  in  the  yard,  and  it  was 
on  the  goose  it  fell." 

"The  creature!"  said  Miss  M'Evoy,  "was 
she  killed?" 

"  Killed  to  the  bone,  as  they  say,"  replied  the 
Doctor ;  "  but  the  trouble  was,  that  on  account 
of  falling  on  the  goose  the  jar  wasn't  broken,  so 
the  bobbies  got  the  potheen." 

"  Supposing  they  summons  you  now  for  the 
porter!"  said  Mrs.  M'Evoy,  facetiously,  casting 
her  eye  through  the  open  window  into  the  bare 
sunshiny  street. 

"They'll  have  summonses  enough  at  Carrow 
Bay  to  keep  them  out  of  mischief,"  returned  Dr. 
Hickey.  "  It's  a  pity  now,  Major,  you  didn't 
patronise  the  Sports.  They  might  have  put 
you  on  judging  the  cakes  with  Mrs.  M'Evoy." 

"  Why  then,  the  one  they  put  on  with  me  was 
194 


When  I  First  Met  Dr.  Hickey 

the  man  they  had  judging  the  vegetables,"  said 
Mrs.  M'Evoy,  after  a  comfortable  pull  at  the  con- 
traband porter.  "  '  That's  a  fine  weighty  cake,' 
says  me  lad,  weighing  a  sponge-cake  on  his  hand. 
**  We'll  give  that  one  the  prize." 

**I  wish  you  brought  it  here  with  you,"  said 
her  daughter,  "  as  weighty  as  it  was." 

**  They  put  me]\idigmg  the  row-boats,"  said  Dr. 
Hickey,  "but  after  the  third  race  I  had  to  give 
up,  and  put  five  stitches  in  one  of  the  men  that 
was  in  the  mark- boat." 

I  said  that  the  mark-boat  ought  to  have  been 
a  fairly  safe  place. 

"  Safe  !  "  said  Dr.  Hickey.  "  It  was  the  hottest 
corner  in  the  course.  I  thought  they  were  sunk 
twice,  but  they  might  have  been  all  right  if  they 
hadn't  out-oars  and  joined  in  the  race  on  the 
second  round.  They  got  in  first,  as  it  happened, 
and  it  was  in  the  course  of  the  protest  that  I  had 
to  put  in  the  stitches.  It  was  a  good  day's  sport, 
as  far  as  it  went." 

**Ah,  there's  no  life  in  a  Regatta  without  a 
band,"  said  Miss  M'Evoy  languidly,  with  her 
elbows  on  the  table  and  her  cup  in  her  hand. 
"  Now  Ringsend  Regatta's  sweet ! " 

"  Tm  afraid  Miss  M*Evoy  didn't  enjoy  herself 
to-day,"  said  Dr.  Hickey.     **  Of  course  she's  used 

to  so  much  attention  in  Dublin " 

195 


In  Mr,   Kno>^s  Country 

**  It's  kind  of  you  to  say  that,"  said  Miss 
M'Evoy;  **  I'm  sure  you're  quite  an  authority  on 
Dublin  young  ladies." 

"Is  it  me  ?  "  said  Dr.  Hickey ;  **  I'd  be  afraid 
to  say  Boo  to  a  goose.  But  I've  a  brother  that 
could  tell  you  all  about  them.  He's  not  as  shy  as 
I  am." 

**  He  must  be  a  great  help  and  comfort  to  you," 
returned  Miss  M'Evoy. 

**  He's  very  romantic,"  said  Dr.  Hickey,  "  and 
poetical.  He  was  greatly  struck  with  two  young 
ladies  he  met  at  the  Ringsend  Regatta  last 
month.  He  mistook  their  address,  someway,  and 
when  he  couldn't  find  them,  what  did  he  do  but 
put  a  poem  in  the  papers — the  Agony  Column, 
y'know " 

**  We'd  like  to  hear  that,"  said  Mrs.  M'Evoy, 
putting  her  knife  into  the  salt  with  unhurried 
dexterity. 

"  I  forget  it  all,  only  the  last  verse,"  said  Dr. 
Hickey,  "  it  went  this  way  : 

*  You  are  indeed  a  charming  creature, 
Perfect  alike  in  form  and  feature, 
I  love  you  and  none  other. 
Oh,  Letitia — Here's  your  Mother ! '  " 

As  Dr.  Hickey,  his  eyes  modestly  on  his  plate, 
concluded  the  ode,  I  certainly  intercepted  a  peculiar 
glance  between  the  ladies. 

196 


Whe?t  I  First  Met  Dr.  Hickey 

"  I  call  that  very  impident,"  said  Mrs.  M*Evoy, 
winking  at  me. 

**  It  was  worth  paying  a  good  deal  to  put  that 
in  print!"  commented  Miss  M'Evoy  unkindly. 
**  But  that  was  a  lovely  Regatta,"  she  continued, 
**  and  the  music  and  the  fireworks  were  grand, 
but  the  society's  very  mixed.  Do  you  remember, 
M'ma,  what  happened  to  Mary  and  me  that 
evening,  the  time  we  missed  you  in  the  dark  ? " 

**  Indeed'n  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  M'Evoy,  her  eyes 
still  communing  with  her  daughter's,  "  and  I 
remember  telling  you  it  was  the  last  evening  I'd 
let  you  out  of  my  sight." 

'*  It  was  a  gentleman  that  picked  up  my 
umbrella,"  began  Miss  M*Evoy  artlessly. 

Dr.  Hickey  dropped  his  knife  on  the  floor, 
and  took  some  time  to  pick  it  up. 

**  And  he  passed  the  remark  to  me  that  it  was 
a  nice  evening,"  went  on  Miss  M'Evoy.  ** '  It  is,' 
said  I.  Now,  M'ma,  why  wouldn't  I  give  him  a 
civil  answer  ?  " 

"  That's  according  to  taste,"  said  Mrs.  M'Evoy. 

"Well  indeed  I  didn't  fancy  his  looks  at  all. 
It  was  pitch  dark  only  for  the  fireworks,  but  I 
thought  he  had  a  nasty  kind  of  a  foreign  look, 
and  a  little  pointed  beard  on  him  too.  If  you  saw 
the  roll  of  his  eye  when  the  green  fire  fell  out  of 

the  rockets  you'd  think  of  Mephistopheles " 

197 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

"  There's  no  doubt  Mephistopheles  was  one  of 
Shakespeare's  grandest  creations," said  Dr.  Hickey 
hurriedly.  His  eyes  besought  my  aid.  It  struck 
me  that  this  literary  digression  was  an  attempt  to 
change  the  conversation. 

Miss  M'Evoy  resumed  her  narrative. 

"  *  That's  a  pretty  flower  you  have  in  your 
button-hole,'  said  he.     *  It  is,'  said  I." 

**  You  didn't  tell  him  a  great  deal  he  didn't 
know,"  said  her  mother. 

"  *  Maybe  you  might  give  it  to  me  ? '  said  he. 
*  Maybe  I  might  not  I '  said  I.  *  And  where  do 
you  live?'  said  he.  'Percy  Place,'  says  Mary, 
before  you  could  wink.  Anyone  would  have  to 
believe  her.  *  Upon  my  soul,'  said  he,  *  I'll  have 
the  pleasure  of  calling  upon  you.  Might  I  ask 
what  your  name  is?'  *0'Rooney,'  says  Mary, 
*and  this  is  my  cousin,  Miss  Letitia  Gollagher.* 
Well,  when  Mary  said  'Gollagher,'  I  burst  f' 

Miss  M'Evoy  here  put  down  her  cup,  and  to 
some  slight  extent  repeated  the  operation. 

"  I  suppose  the  foreign  gentleman  told  you 
his  own  name  then?"  said  Dr.  Hickey,  whose 
complexion  had  warmed  up  remarkably. 

*'  He  did  not,"  said  Miss  M'Evoy  ;  "  but  perhaps 
that  was  because  he  wasn't  asked,  and  it  was 
then  M'ma  came  up.  I  can  tell  you  he  didn't 
wait  to  be  introduced  ! " 

198 


When  I  First  Met  Dr.  Hickey 

"  I  have  a  sister-in-law  living  in  Percy  Place,'* 
said  Mrs.  M'Evoy,  passing  her  handkerchief  over 
her  brow,  and  addressing  no  one  in  particular, 
"  and  it  was  some  day  last  month  she  was  telling 
me  of  a  young  man  that  was  knocking  at  all  the 
doors  down  the  street,  and  she  thought  he  was 
a  Collector  of  some  sort.  He  came  to  her  house 
too,  and  he  told  the  girl  he  was  looking  for  some 
ladies  of  the  name  of  Gollagher  or  O'Rooney." 

She  paused,  and  regarded  Dr.  Hickey. 

"  I  wonder  did  he  find  them?"  asked  Dr.  Hickey, 
who  was  obviously  being  forced  on  to  the  ropes. 

**  I  thought, you  might  be  able  to  tell  us  that!" 
said  Mrs.  M'Evoy,  delivering  her  knock-out 
blow  with  the  suddenness  that  belongs  to  the 
highest  walks  of  the  art. 

Miss  M'Evoy,  with  equal  suddenness,  uttered 
a  long  and  strident  yell,  and  lay  back  in  her 
place,  grasping  my  arm  as  she  did  so,  in  what  I 
am  convinced  was  wholly  unconscious  sympathy. 
She  and  I  were  side  by  side,  facing  the  window, 
and  through  the  window,  which,  as  I  have  men- 
tioned, was  wide  open,  I  was  aware  of  a  new 
element  in  the  situation. 

It  was  a  figure  in  blue  in  the  street  outside  ;  a 
soft  and  familiar  blue,  and  it  bore  a  parasol  of  the 
same  colour.  The  figure  was  at  a  standstill ;  and 
very  blue,  the  burning  blue  of  tropical  heavens, 

199 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

were  the  eyes  that  met  mine  beneath  the  canopy 
of  the  parasol.  Even  before  my  own  had  time 
to  blink  I  foreknew  that  never,  in  time  or  in 
eternity,  should  I  be  able  to  make  Philippa  accept 
thoroughly  my  explanation. 

Philippa's  explanation  was  extremely  brief,  and 
was  addressed  rather  to  the  empty  street  of 
Carrow  Cross  than  to  me,  as  I  crawled  by  her 
side.  There  had  been,  she  said,  half  an  hour  to 
wait,  and  as  I  was  not  at  the  station — the  blue 
eyes  met  mine  for  a  steely  moment — she  had 
gone  for  a  little  walk.  She  had  met  some  horrid 
drunken  men,  and  turned  into  another  street  to 
avoid  them,  and  then 

A  brimming  silence  followed.  We  turned  up 
the  road  that  led  to  the  station. 

**  There  are  those  men  again ! "  exclaimed 
Philippa,  coming  a  little  nearer  to  me. 

In  front  of  us,  deviously  ascending  the  long 
slope,  was  the  Asylum  party  ;  the  keepers,  exceed- 
ingly drunk,  being  assisted  to  the  station  by  the 
Lunatics. 


200 


VIII 

THE    BOSOM    OF    THE    McRORYS 

Since  the  day  when  fate  had  shipwrecked  us  at 
the  end  of  the  Temple  Braney  shrubbery,  and 
flung  us,  dripping,  into  the  bosoms  of  the 
McRorys,  we  had  been  the  victims  of  an  indis- 
soluble friendship  with  the  family.  This  fulfilled 
itself  in  many  ways. 

Gratitude,  what  is  known  as  Common  Gratitude 
(which  is  merely  a  hollow  compliance  with  the 
voice  of  conscience),  impelled  us  to  lunch  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  McRory,  heavily  and  elaborately  (but 
without  any  one  to  meet  them) ;  to  invite  the 
whole  family  to  a  lawn-tennis  party  (and  the 
whole  family  came)  ;  and,  at  other  people's  tennis 
parties,  to  fawn  upon  them  (when  it  was  no 
longer  possible  to  elude  them).  It  was  a  despic- 
able position,  and  had  I  at  all  foreseen,  when  the 
picnic  sank  at  Temple  Braney  pier,  that  the 
result  would  have  been  dinner-parties,  I  should 
unhesitatingly  have  left  Philippa  to  drown. 

The  intimacies  imposed  by  Common  Gratitude 
had,  under  the  healing  hand  of  time,  become  less 
acute,  and  might,  indeed,  have  ceased  to  affect 

201 


In  Mr.  Knoxs  Country 

us,  had  not  fate  again  intervened,  and  cemented 
the  family  friendship  in  the  most  public  way 
possible.  There  befell  a  Harvest  Festival  in 
Skebawn  Church,  with  a  Bishop,  and  an  Anthem, 
and  a  special  collection.  To  it  the  McRorys,  for- 
saking their  own  place  of  worship,  came  in 
power,  and  my  wife,  very  superfluously,  indi- 
cated to  Mrs.  McRory  a  seat  in  our  pew.  The 
pew  is  a  front  one,  and  Mrs.  McRory  became  at 
once  a  figure-head  to  the  rest  of  the  congregation 
— ^a  buxom  figure-head,  upholstered  tightly  in 
royal  blue  satin,  that  paled  the  ineffectual  fires 
of  the  pulpit  dahlias,  and  shouted  in  a  terrible 
major  chord  with  the  sunflowers  in  the  east 
window.  She  creaked  mysteriously  and  rhyth- 
mically with  every  breath  ;  a  large  gold  butterfly, 
poised  on  an  invisible  spring,  quivered  and 
glittered  above  her  bonnet.  It  was  while  waiting 
for  the  service  to  begin  that  Philippa  was  inspired 
to  whisper  to  Mrs  McRory  some  information, 
quite  immaterial,  connected  with  the  hymns. 
The  next  moment  I  perceived  that  Mrs.  McRory's 
butterfly  had  fixed  its  antennae  into  some  adjunct 
of  my  wife's  hat  that  was  at  once  diaphanous 
and  sinewy,  with  the  result  that  the  heads  of 
the  two  ladies  were  locked  together.  A  silent 
struggle  ensued ;  the  butterfly's  grappling-irons 
held,  so  also  did  the  hat-trimming,  and  Philippa 

202 


The  ^osom  of  the  Mc^rys 

and  Mrs.  McRory  remained  brow  to  brow  in 
what  seemed  to  be  a  prolonged  embrace.  At 
this  point  Philippa  showed  signs  of  collapse  ;  she 
said  that  Mrs.  McRory's  nose,  glowing  like  a 
ruby  within  two  inches  of  her  own,  made  her 
hysterical.  I  affected  unconsciousness,  while  my 
soul  thirsted  for  an  axe  with  which  to  decapitate 
one  or  both  of  the  combatants,  and  subsequently 
to  run  amok  among  the  congregation,  now,  as 
the  poet  says,  "abashlessly  abandoned  to  delight." 
The  butterfly's  vitals  slowly  uncoiled,  and  were 
drawn  out  into  a  single  yet  indomitable  strand  of 
gold  wire ;  the  Bishop  was  imminent,  when  a 
female  McRory  in  the  pew  behind  (known  to  the 
Fancy  as  **  Larkie  ")  intervened  with  what  were, 
I  believe,  a  pair  of  manicure  scissors,  and  the 
incident  closed. 

It  was  clear  that  our  blood-brotherhood  with 
the  McRorys  was  foreordained  and  predestined. 
We  evaded  two  invitations  to  dinner,  but  a  third 
was  inescapable,  even  though  an  alarming  inti- 
macy was  foreshadowed  by  the  request  that  we 
should  come  **  in  a  very  quiet  way." 

"Do  they  expect  us  to  creep  in  in  tennis 
shoes?"  I  demanded. 

**  I  think  it  only  means  a  black  tie,"  said 
Philippa,  with  the  idea  that  she  was  sooth- 
ing me. 

203 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

*'  If  I  have  to  go  to  a  McRory  Free-and-Easy, 
I  shall  not  act  as  such,"  I  returned,  slamming 
myself  into  my  dressing-room,  and  dragging 
forth  ceremonial  attire. 

As,  with  a  docility  that  I  was  far  from  feeling, 
I  followed  my  wife  into  the  drawing-room  at 
Temple  Braney,  and  surveyed  the  semicircle  of 
McRorys  and  unknown  notabilities  (summarised 
as  "  Friends  from  Dublin  ")  that  silently  awaited 
us,  I  felt  that  neither  freedom  nor  ease  would  be 
my  lot.  But  few  things  in  life  are  quite  as  bad 
as  one  expects  them  to  be — always  excepting 
sea-sickness.  In  its  dreary  circuit  of  the  room, 
my  eye  met  that  of  my  old  friend  Miss  Bobby 
Bennett,  of  the  Curranhilty  Hunt,  niece  of  its 
Master,  and  consultant  and  referee  in  all  its 
affairs.  My  friendship  with  Miss  Bennett  was 
of  an  ideal  nature ;  when  we  met,  which  was 
seldom,  we  were  delighted  to  see  one  another  ; 
in  the  intervals  we  forgot  one  another  with,  I 
felt  sure,  an  equal  completeness.  Her  social 
orbit  was  incalculable;  she  resembled  a  fox  of 
whom  I  heard  an  earth-stopper  say  that  you 
**  couldn't  tell  any  certain  place  where  he  wouldn't 
puck  out."  Whether  it  was  at  Punchestown,  or 
at  a  Skebawn  Parish  tea,  or  judging  cakes  and 
crochet  at  an  Agricultural  Show,  wherever  she 
appeared  it  was  with  the  same  air  of  being  on 

204 


T^he  'Bosom  of  the  Mc%orys 

top  of  the  situation  and  of  extracting  the  utmost 
from  it. 

To  me  befell  the  onerous  task  of  taking  the 
Lady  of  the  House  in  to  dinner,  but  upon  my 
other  hand  sat  Miss  Bennett  (squired  by  a  Friend 
from  Dublin  of  apparently  negligible  quality), 
and  before  I  had  recovered  from  the  soup — a 
hell-broth  of  liquid  mustard  that  called  itself 
mulligatawny — I  found  that  to  concentrate  upon 
her  was  no  more  than  was  expected  of  me  by 
both  ladies.  Mrs.  McRory's  energies  were  in- 
deed fully  engrossed  by  the  marshalling  of  a 
drove  of  heated  females,  who  hurried  stertorously 
and  spasmodically  round  '  the  table,  driven  as 
leaves  before  the  wind  by  fierce  signals  from 
their  trainer.  Opposite  to  me  sat  that  daughter 
of  the  house  whose  manicure  scissors  had  termi- 
nated the  painful  episode  of  the  butterfly.  I  had 
always  maintained  that  she  was  the  prettiest 
of  the  McRorys,  and  it  was  evident  that  Irving, 
the  new  District  Inspector  of  R.I.C.,  who  sat 
beside  her,  shared  my  opinion.  He  was  a  serious, 
lanky  young  man,  and  at  such  moments  as  he 
found  himself  deprived  of  Miss  McRory's  ex- 
clusive attention,  he  accepted  no  alternative,  and 
devoted  himself  austerely  to  his  food. 

Miss  Bennett's  intention  was,  I  presently  dis- 
covered, to  hunt  with  Flurry  Knox's  hounds  on 

205 


In  Mr.  Knoxs  Country 

the  following  day  :  she  had  brought  over  a  horse, 
and  it  became  clear  to  me  that  her  secondary 
intention  was  to  return  without  it. 

*'  Larkie  McRory's  going  to  take  up  hunting," 
she  said  in  her  low  swift  voice.  "  The  new  D.I. 
hunts,  you  know." 

Miss  Bennett's  astute  grey  eyes  rested  upon 
the  young  lady  in  question,  and  returned  to  me 
laden  with  inference. 

**  He's  got  a  horse  from  a  farmer  for  her  to 
ride  to-morrow — goodness  knows  what  sort  of  a 
brute  it  is! — I  hope  she  won't  break  her  neck. 
She's  the  best  of  the  lot.  If  the  old  man  had 
sense  he'd  buy  my  mare  for  her — he's  full  of 
money — and  I'd  let  her  go  cheap,  too,  as  I  have 
a  young  one  coming  on." 

It  is  worthy  of  mention  that  I  have  never 
known  Miss  Bennett's  stable  composed  of  any- 
thing save  old  ones  to  go  cheap  and  young  ones 
coming  on.  I  asked  her  what  she  would  give 
me  if  I  didn't  tell  Mr.  McRory  that  her  mare 
was  touched  in  the  wind. 

"  ril  give  you  in  charge  for  defamation  of 
character,"  replied  Miss  Bennett,  with  speed 
comparable  only  to  the  dart  of  an  ant-eater's 
tongue.  **  Anything  else  you'd  like  to  know? 
But  look  at  Larkie  now,  I  ask  of  you  !     Quick !  " 

I  did  as  desired,   and  was    fortunate    enough 
206 


T!he  ^osom  of  the  Mc'^rys 

to  see  Miss  McRory  in  the  act  of  putting  a 
spoonful  of  salt  in  Mr.  Irving's  champagne,  what 
time  he  was  engaged  in  repulsing  one  of  Mrs. 
McRory 's  band  of  flaming  ministers,  who,  with 
head  averted  in  consultation  with  a  collaborator, 
was  continuously  offering  him  melted  butter,  re- 
gardless of  the  fact  that  he  had,  at  the  moment, 
nothing  in  front  of  him  but  the  tablecloth. 

"There's  Miss  Larkie's  Dublin  manners  for 
you,"  said  Miss  Bennett,  and  passed  on  to  other 
themes. 

I  should  say  theme,  because,  speaking  broadly, 
Miss  Bennett  had  but  one,  and  all  roads  sooner 
or  later  led  to  it.  During  the  slow  progress  of 
the  meal  I  was  brought  up  to  date  in  the  inner 
gossip  of  the  Curranhilty  country.  I  learned 
that  Mrs.  Albert  Dougherty  had  taken  to  riding 
astride  because  she  thought  it  was  smart,  and  it 
was  nothing  but  the  grab  she  got  of  the  noseband 
that  saved  her  from  coming  off  every  time  she 
came  down  a  drop.  I  asked  for  that  Mr.  Tomsy 
Flood  whose  career  had  twice,  at  vital  points,  been 
intersected  by  me. 

**  Ah,  poor  Tomsy !  He  took  to  this,  y'know," 
Miss  Bennett  slightly  jerked  her  little  finger, 
"and  he  wouldn't  ride  a  donkey  over  a  sod  of 
turf.  They  sent  him  out  to  South  Africa,  to  an 
ostrich   farm,    and   when    the   people   found   he 

207 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

couldn't  ride  they  put  him  to  bed  with  a  setting 
of  ostrich  eggs  to  keep  them  warm,  and  he  did 
that  grand,  till  some  one  gave  him  a  bottle  of 
whisky,  and  he  got  rather  lively  and  broke  all 
the  eggs.  They  say  it's  a  lay-preacher  he's 
going  to  be  now !  " 

Across  a  dish  of  potatoes,  thrust  at  me  for  the 
fourth  time,  I  told  Miss  Bennett  that  it  was  all 
her  fault,  and  that  she  had  been  very  unkind  to 
Tomsy  Flood.  Miss  Bennett  gave  me  a  look 
that  showed  me  what  she  still  could  do  if  she 
liked,  and  replied  that  she  supposed  I  was 
sorry  that  she  hadn't  gone  to  South  Africa 
with  him. 

"  I  suppose  we'll  all  be  going  there  soon,"  she 
went  on.  *'  Uncle  says  if  Home  Rule  comes  there 
won't  be  a  fox  or  a  Protestant  left  in  Ireland  in 
ten  years'  time ;  and  he  said,  what's  more,  that  if 
he  had  to  choose  it  mightn't  be  the  Protestants 
he'd  keep!  But  that  was  because  the  Dissent- 
ing Minister's  wife  sent  in  a  claim  of  five  pounds 
to  the  Fowl  Fund,  and  said  she'd  put  down  poison 
if  she  didn't  get  it." 

Not  thus  did  Philippa  and  old  McRory,  at 
their  end  of  the  table,  fleet  the  time  away.  Old 
McRory,  as  far  as  I  could  judge,  spoke  not  at  all, 
but  played  tunes  with  his  fingers  on  the  table- 
cloth, or  preoccupied  himself  with  what  seemed 

208 


The  'Sosom  of  the  Mc^rys 

to  be  an  endeavour  to  plait  his  beard  into  a  point. 
On  my  wife's  other  hand  was  an  unknown  gentle- 
man,  with  rosy  cheeks,  a  raven  moustache,  and 
a  bald  head,  who  was  kind  enough  to  solace  her 
isolation  with  facetious  stories,  garnished  with  free 
and  varied  gestures  with  his  knife,  suggestive  of 
sword-practice,  all  concluding  alike  in  convulsive 
tenor  laughter.  I  was  aware,  not  unpleasantly, 
that  Philippa  was  bearing  the  brunt  of  the 
McRory  bean-feast. 

When  at  length  my  wife's  release  was  earned, 
and  the  ladies  had  rustled  from  the  room  in  her 
wake,  with  all  the  conscious  majesty  of  the  Mantle 
Department,  I  attempted  some  conversation  with 
my  host,  but  found  that  it  was  more  considerate 
to  leave  him  to  devour  unmolested  the  crystallised 
fruits  and  chocolates  that  were  not,  I  felt  quite 
sure,  provided  by  Mrs.  McRory  for  the  Master 
of  the  House.  I  retired  upon  the  D.I.,  my 
opinion  of  whom  had  risen  since  I  saw  him 
swallow  his  salted  champagne  without  a  change 
of  countenance.  That  he  addressed  me  as  **  Sir  " 
was  painful,  but  at  about  my  age  these  shocks 
have  to  be  expected,  and  are  in  the  same  cate- 
gory as  lumbago,  and  what  my  dentist  delicately 
alludes  to  as  **  dentures." 

The  young  District  Inspector  of  Irish  Con- 
stabulary  has   wisdom    beyond    his    years :    we 

209  o 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

talked  profoundly  of  the  state  of  the  country  until 
the  small  voice  of  old  McRory  interrupted  us. 

**  Major,"  it  said,  "if  you  have  enough  drink 
taken  we  might  join  the  ladies." 

Most  of  the  other  gallants  had  already  preceded 
us,  and  as  I  crossed  the  hall  I  heard  the  measured 
pounding  of  a  waltz  on  the  piano :  it  created  an 
impulse,  almost  as  uncontrollable  as  that  of 
Spurius  Lartius  and  Herminius,  to  dart  back  to 
the  dining-room. 

"  That's  the  way  with  them  every  night,"  said 
old  McRory  dispassionately.  **  They  mightn't  go 
to  bed  now  at  all." 

Old  McRory  had  a  shadowy  and  imperceptible 
quality  that  is  not  unusual  in  small  fathers  of 
large  families  ;  it  always  struck  me  that  he  under- 
stood very  thoroughly  the  privileges  of  the 
neglected,  and  pursued  an  unnoticed,  peaceful, 
and  observant  path  of  his  own  in  the  background. 
I  watched  him  creep  away  in  his  furtive,  stupefied 
manner,  like  a  partly-chloroformed  ferret.  '*  *  Oh, 
well  is  thee,  thou  art  asleep!' — or  soon  will  be," 
I  said  to  myself,  as  I  turned  my  back  on  him  and 
faced  the  music. 

I  was  immediately  gratified  by  the  spectacle  of 
Philippa,  clasped  to  the  heart  of  the  gentleman 
who  had  been  kind  to  her  at  dinner,  and  moving 
with  him  in  slow  and  crab-like  sidlings  round  the 

210 


^he  "Bosom  of  the  Mc^rys 

carpet.  Her  eyes  met  mine  with  passionate 
appeal ;  they  reminded  me  of  those  of  her  own 
fox-terrier,  Minx,  when  compelled  to  waltz  with 
my  younger  son. 

The  furniture  and  the  elder  ladies  had  been 
piled  up  in  corners,  and  the  dancing  element  had 
been  reinforced  by  a  gang  of  lesser  McRorys  and 
their  congeners,  beings  who  had  not  been  deemed 
worthy  of  a  place  at  the  high  table.  Immured 
behind  the  upright  piano  sat  Mrs.  McRory, 
thumping  out  the  time-honoured  "  Blue  Danube" 
with  the  plodding  rhythm  of  the  omnibus  horse. 
I  furtively  looked  at  my  watch ;  we  had  dined  at 
7.30,  and  it  was  now  but  a  quarter  to  ten  o^clock. 
Not  for  half  an  hour  could  we  in  decency  with- 
draw, and,  finding  myself  at  the  moment  beside 
Miss  Larkie  McRory,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
could  do  no  less  than  invite  her  to  take  the  carpet 
with  me. 

I  am  aware  that  my  dancing  is  that  of  ten 
years  ago,  which  places  it  in  the  same  scrap-heap 
class  as  a  battleship  of  that  date,  but  Miss 
McRory  told  me  that  she  preferred  it,  and  that 
it  exactly  suited  her  step.  It  would  be  as  easy 
to  describe  the  way  of  a  bird  in  the  air  as  to  define 
Miss  McRory 's  step ;  scrap-heap  or  no,  it  made 
me  feel  that  I  walked  the  carpet  like  a  thing  of 
life.     We  were  occasionally  wrecked  upon  reefs 

211 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

of  huddled  furniture,  and  we  sustained  a  collision 
or  two  of  first-rate  magnitude  :  after  these  episodes 
my  partner  imperceptibly  steered  me  to  a  corner, 
in  which  I  leaned  heavily  against  whatever  was 
most  stable,  and  tried  to  ignore  the  fact  that  the 
floor  was  rocking  and  the  walls  were  waving, 
and  that  it  was  at  least  two  years  since  I  had 
exceeded  in  this  way. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  intervals  that  Miss 
McRory  told  me  that  she  was  going  hunting  next 
day,  and  that  he — her  long  hazel-grey  eyes  indi- 
cated Mr.  Irving,  now  slowly  and  showily  moving 
a  partner  about  the  room — had  got  a  horse  for 
her  to  ride,  and  she  had  never  hunted  before. 
She  hoped  to  goodness  she  wouldn't  fall  off,  and 
(here  she  dealt  me  the  fraction  of  a  glance)  she 
hoped  I'd  pick  her  up  now  and  again.  I  said 
that  the  two  wishes  were  incompatible,  to  which 
she  replied  that  she  didn't  know  what  incompatible 
meant ;  and  I  told  her  to  ask  Mr.  Irving  whether 
he  had  found  that  salt  and  champagne  were 
compatible. 

**  I  thought  you  only  wore  that  old  eyeglass 
for  show,"  replied  Miss  McRory  softly,  and  again 
looked  up  at  me  from  under  her  upcurled  Irish 
eyelashes  ;  "  it  was  out  of  spite  he  drank  it !  A 
girl  did  that  to  my  brother  Curly  at  a  dance,  and 
he  poured  it  down  her  back." 

212 


The  Bosom  of  the  Mc'^rys 

"  I  think  Mr.  Irving  treated  you  better  than 
you  deserved,"  I  repHed  paternally,  adventuring 
once  more  into  the  tide  of  dancers. 

When,  some  five  minutes  afterwards,  I  resigned 
my  partner  to  Irving  D.I.,  I  felt  that  honour  had 
been  satisfied,  and  that  it  was  now  possible  to 
leave  the  revel.  But  in  this  I  found  that  I  had 
reckoned,  not  so  much  without  my  host,  as  without 
my  fellow-guest.  Philippa,  to  my  just  indignation, 
had  blossomed  into  the  success  of  the  evening. 
Having  disposed  of  the  kind-hearted  gentleman 
(with  the  pink  cheeks  and  the  black  moustache), 
she  was  immediately  claimed  by  Mr.  De  Lacey 
McRory,  the  eldest  son  of  the  house,  and  with 
him  exhibited  a  proficiency  in  the  latest  variant 
of  the  waltz  that  she  had  hitherto  concealed 
from  me.  The  music,  like  the  unseen  orchestra 
of  a  merry-go-round,  was  practically  continuous. 
Scuffles  took  place  at  intervals  behind  the  upright 
piano,  during  which  music-books  fell  heavily  upon 
the  keys,  and  one  gathered  that  a  change  of 
artist  was  taking  place,  but  the  fundamental  bang- 
ing of  the  bass  was  maintained,  and  the  dancing 
ceased  not.  The  efforts  of  the  musicians  were 
presently  reinforced  by  a  young  lady  in  blue,  who 
supplied  a  shrill  and  gibbering  obligato  upon  a 
beribboned  mandoline,  and  even,  at  some  pas- 
sionate moments,  added  her  voice  to  the  ensemble. 

213 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

"Will  this  go  on  much  longer?"  I  asked  of 
Miss  Bennett,  with  whom  I  had  withdrawn  to 
the  asylum  of  a  bow  window. 

**  D'ye  mean  Miss  Cooney  O'Rattigan  and 
her  mandoline  ?  "  replied  Miss  Bennett.  *'  I  can 
tell  you  it  was  twice  worse  this  afternoon  when 
she  was  singing  Italian  to  it.  I  never  stayed 
here  before,  and  please  goodness  I  never  will 
again;  the  wardrobe  in  my  room  is  crammed 
with  Mrs.  McRory's  summer  clothes,  and  the 
chest  of  drawers  is  full  of  apples !  Ah,  but  after 
all,"  went  on  Miss  Bennett  largely,  *' what  can 
you  expect  from  a  cob  but  a  kick?  Didn't 
Tomsy  Flood  find  a  collection  of  empty  soda- 
water  bottles  in  his  bed  the  time  he  stayed 
here  for  the  wedding,  when  you  found  him 
stitched  up  in  the  feather  bed ! " 

I  said  that  the  soda-water  bottles  had  probably 
prepared  him  for  the  ostrich  eggs,  and  Miss 
Bennett  asked  me  if  it  were  true  that  I  had  once 
found  a  nest  of  young  mice  in  the  foot  of  my  bed 
at  Aussolas,  because  that  was  the  story  she  had 
heard.  I  was  able  to  assure  her  that,  on  the 
contrary,  it  had  been  kittens,  and  passing  from 
these  pleasing  reminiscences  I  asked  her  to  come 
forth  and  smoke  a  cigarette  in  the  hall  with  me, 
as  a  preliminary  to  a  farther  advance  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  motor.     I  have  a  sincere  regard  for 

214 


Miss  Cooney  O'Rattigan. 


T^he  "Bosom  of  the  Mc'^rys 

Miss  Bennett,  but  her  dancing  is  a  serious  matter, 
with  a  Cromwellian  quality  in  it,  suggestive  of 
jack  boots  and  the  march  of  great  events. 

The  cigarettes  were  consolatory,  and  the  two 
basket-chairs  by  the  fire  in  the  back-hall  were 
sufficiently  comfortable  ;  but  the  prospect  of  home 
burned  like  a  beacon  before  me.  The  clock 
struck  eleven. 

**  They're  only  beginning  now ! "  said  Miss 
Bennett,  interpreting  without  resentment  my 
glance  at  it.  **  Last  night  it  was  near  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning  when  they  had  high  tea, 
and  then  they  took  to  singing  songs,  and  play- 
ing *  Are  you  there,  Mike  ? '  and  cock-fighting." 

I  rose  hastily,  and  began  to  search  for  my 
overcoat  and  cap,  prepared  to  plunge  into  the 
frosty  night,  when  Miss  Bennett  offered  to  show 
me  a  short  way  through  the  house  to  the  stable- 
yard,  where  I  had  left  the  car. 

**  I  slipped  out  that  way  after  dinner,"  she 
said,  picking  up  a  fur-lined  cloak  and  wrapping 
it  about  her.  "  I  wanted  to  make  sure  the  mare 
had  a  second  rug  on  her  this  cold  night." 

I  followed  Miss  Bennett  through  a  wheezy 
swing-door ;  a  flagged  passage  stretched  like  a 
tunnel  before  us,  lighted  by  a  solitary  candle 
planted  in  its  own  grease  in  a  window.  A  long 
battle-line  of  bicycles  occupied  one  side  of  the 

215 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

passage ;  there  were  doors,  padlocked  and  cob- 
webbed,  on  the  other.  A  ragged  baize  door  at 
the  end  of  the  tunnel  opened  into  darkness  that 
smelt  of  rat-holes,  and  was  patched  by  a  square 
or  two  of  moonlight. 

"This  is  a  sort  of  a  lobby,"  said  Miss  Bennett. 
**  Mind  !  There's  a  mangle  there — and  there 
are  oars  on  the  floor  somewhere " 

As  she  spoke  I  was  aware  of  a  distant  hum- 
ming noise,  like  bees  in  a  chimney. 

"That  sounds  uncommonly  like  a  motor,'* 
I  said. 

**  That's  only  the  boiler,"  replied  Miss  Bennett ; 
"  we're  at  the  back  of  the  kitchen  here." 

She  advanced  with  confidence,  and  flung  open 
a  door.  A  most  startling  vista  was  revealed,  of 
a  lighted  room  with  several  beds  in  it.  Children's 
faces,  swelled  and  scarlet,  loomed  at  us  from  the 
pillows,  and  an  old  woman,  with  bare  feet  and 
a  shawl  over  her  head,  stood  transfixed,  with  a 
kettle  in  one  hand  and  a  tumbler  in  the  other. 

Miss  Bennett  swiftly  closed  the  door  upon  the 
vision. 

"My  gracious  heavens !  "  she  whispered,  **what 
on  earth  children  are  those?  I'm  sure  it's 
mumps  they  have,  whoever  they  are.  And  how 
secret  the  McRorys  kept  it ! — and  did  you  see  it 
was  punch  the  old  woman  was  giving  them  ?  " 

216 


The  "Bosom  of  the  Mc%ory5 

"  We  might  have  asked  her  the  way  to  the 
yard,"  I  said,  inwardly  resolving  to  tell  Philippa 
it  was  scarlatina ;  **  and  she  might  have  given 
us  a  light." 

"It  was  this  door  I  should  have  tried,"  said 
my  guide,  opening  another  with  considerable 
circumspection. 

Sounds  of  hilarity  immediately  travelled  to  us 
along  a  passage ;  I  followed  Miss  Bennett,  feel- 
ing much  as  if  I  were  being  led  by  a  detective 
into  Chinatown,  San  Francisco.  A  square  of 
light  in  the  wall  indicated  one  of  those  inner 
windows  that  are  supposed  to  give  light  mutu- 
ally to  room  and  passage,  and  are,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  an  architect's  confession  of  defeat. 
Farther  on  a  door  was  open,  and  screams  of 
laughter  and  singing  proceeded  from  it.  I  admit, 
without  hesitation,  that  we  looked  in  at  the 
window,  and  thus  obtained  a  full  and  sufficient 
view  of  the  vie  intime  of  the  Temple  Braney 
kitchen.  A  fat  female,  obviously  the  cook,  was 
seated  in  the  midst  of  a  remarkably  lively  crowd 
of  fellow-retainers  and  camp-followers,  thumping 
with  massive  knuckles  on  a  frying-pan,  as  though 
it  were  a  banjo,  and  squalling  to  it  something 
in  an  unknown  tongue. 

"  She's  taking  off  Miss  Cooney  O'Rattigan ! " 
hissed  Miss  Bennett,  in  ecstasy.     "  She's  sing- 

217 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

ing  Italian,  by  way  of!  And  look  at  those  two 
brats  of  boys,  Vincent  and  Harold,  that  should 
have  been  in  their  beds  two  hours  ago ! " 

Masters  Vincent  and  Harold  McRory  were 
having  the  time  of  their  lives.  One  of  them, 
seated  on  the  table,  was  shovelling  tipsy-cake 
into  his  ample  mouth  with  a  kitchen  spoon ;  the 
other  was  smoking  a  cigarette,  and  capering  to 
the  squalls  of  the  cook. 

As  noiselessly  as  two  bats  Miss  Bennett  and 
I  flitted  past  the  open  door,  but  a  silence  fell 
with  a  unanimity  that  would  have  done  credit 
to  any  orchestra. 

**They  saw  us,"  said  Miss  Bennett,  scudding 
on,  "  but  we'll  not  tell  on  them — the  creatures !  " 

An  icy  draught  apprised  us  of  an  open  door, 
and  through  it  we  escaped  at  length  from  the 
nightmare  purlieus  of  the  house  into  the  yard, 
an  immense  quadrangle,  where  moonlight  and 
black  shadows  opposed  one  another  in  a  silence 
that  was  as  severe  as  they.  Temple  Braney 
House  and  its  yard  dated  from  what  may  be 
called  the  Stone  Age  in  Ireland,  about  the 
middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  when  money 
was  plenty  and  labour  cheap,  and  the  Barons 
of  Temple  Braney,  now  existent  only  in  guide- 
books, built,  as  they  lived,  on  the  generous 
scale. 

218 


T^he  "Bosom  of  the  Mc^rys 

We  crossed  the  yard  to  the  coach-house  in 
which  I  had  left  my  motor :  its  tall  arched  door- 
way was  like  the  mouth  of  a  cave,  and  I  struck 
a  match.  It  illuminated  a  mowing-machine,  a 
motor-bicycle,  and  a  flying  cat.  But  not  my  car. 
The  first  moment  of  bewilderment  was  closed  by 
the  burning  of  my  fingers  by  the  match. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  was  here  you  left  it  ?  "  said 
Miss  Bennett,  with  a  fatuity  of  which  I  had  not 
believed  her  capable. 

The  presence  of  a  lady  was  no  doubt  a  salutary 
restraint,  but  as  I  went  forth  into  the  yard  again, 
I  felt  as  though  the  things  I  had  to  leave  unsaid 
would  break  out  all  over  me  like  prickly  heat. 

"  It's  the  medical  student  one,"  said  Miss 
Bennett  with  certainty,  "  the  one  that  owns  the 
motor-bike." 

The  yard  and  the  moonlight  did  not  receive 
this  statement  with  a  more  profound  silence 
than  I. 

**  I'm  sure  he  won't  do  it  any  harm,"  she  went 
on,  making  the  elementary  mistake  of  applying 
superficial  salves  to  a  wound  whose  depths  she 
was  incapable  of  estimating.  "  He's  very  good 
about  machinery — maybe  it's  only  round  to  the 
front  door  he  took  it." 

As  Miss  Bennett  offered  these  consolations  I 
saw  two  small  figures  creep  from  the  shadows  of 

219 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

the  house.  Their  white  collars  shone  in  the 
moonlight,  and,  recognising  them  as  the  youngest 
members  of  the  inveterate  clan  of  McRory,  I 
hailed  them  in  a  roar  that  revealed  very  effectively 
the  extent  of  my  indignation.  It  did  not  surprise 
me  that  the  pair,  in  response  to  this,  darted  out 
of  the  yard  gate  with  the  speed  of  a  pair  of 
minnows  in  a  stream. 

I  pursued,  not  with  any  hope  of  overtaking 
them,  but  because  they  were  the  only  clue 
available,  and  in  my  wake,  over  the  frosty  ground, 
in  her  satin  shoes,  followed  that  sound  sports- 
woman, Miss  Bennett. 

The  route  from  the  stable-yard  to  the  front  of 
Temple  Braney  House  is  a  long  and  circuitous 
one,  that  skirts  a  plantation  of  evergreens.  At  the 
first  bend  the  moonlight  displayed  the  track  of  a 
tyre  in  the  grass ;  at  the  next  bend,  where  the 
edge  was  higher,  a  similar  economy  of  curve  had 
been  effected,  and  that  the  incident  had  been  of  a 
fairly  momentous  nature  was  suggested  by  the 
circumstance  that  the  tail  lamp  was  lying  in  the 
middle  of  the  drive.  It  was  as  I  picked  it  up 
that  I  heard  a  familiar  humming  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  hall  door. 

"  He  didn't  go  so  far,  after  all,"  said  Miss 
Bennett,  somewhat  blown,  but  holding  her  own, 
in  spite  of  the  satin  shoes. 

230 


The  "Bosom  of  the  Memory s 

I  turned  the  last  corner  at  a  high  rate  of  speed, 
and  saw  the  dignified  Georgian  fa9ade  of  the 
house,  pale  and  placid  in  the  moonlight ;  through 
the  open  hall  door  a  shaft  of  yellow  light  fell  on 
the  ground.  The  car  was  nowhere  to  be  seen, 
yet  somewhere,  close  at  hand,  the  engine  throbbed 
and  drummed  to  me, — a  cri  de  coeur,  as  I  felt  it, 
calling  to  me  through  the  accursed  jingle  of  the 
piano  that  proceeded  from  the  open  door. 

**  Where  the  devil ?  "  I  began. 

Even  as  I  spoke  I  descried  the  car.  It  was 
engaged,  apparently,  in  forcing  its  way  into  the 
shrubbery  that  screened  one  end  of  the  house. 
The  bonnet  was  buried  in  a  holly  bush,  the 
engine  was  working,  slowly  but  industriously. 
The  lamps  were  not  lighted,  and  there  was  no 
one  in  it. 

**  Those  two  imps  made  good  use  of  their  legs, 
never  fear  them ! "  puffed  Miss  Bennett ;  *'  the 
'cuteness  of  them — cutting  away  to  warn  the 
brother !  " 

**  What's  this  confounded  thing  V I  said  fiercely, 
snatching  at  something  that  was  caught  in  the 
handle  of  the  brake. 

Miss  Bennett  snatched  it  in  her  turn,  and  held 
it  up  in  the  moonlight,  while  I  stilled  the  fever  of 
the  engine. 

**  Dublin  for  ever ! "  she  exclaimed.     **  What  is 

221 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

[t  but  the  streamers  of  Miss  Cooney's  mandoline  ! 
There's  the  spoils  of  war  for  you !  And  it's  all 
the  spoils  you'll  get — the  whole  pack  of  them's 
hid  in  the  house  by  now ! " 

From  an  unlighted  window  over  the  hall  door 
a  voice  added  itself  to  the  conversation. 

'*  God  help  the  house  that  holds  them  !  "  it  said, 
addressing  the  universe. 

The  window  was  closed. 

**  That's  old  McRory !  "  said  Miss  Bennett  in  a 
horrified  whisper. 

Again  I  thought  of  Chinatown,  sleepless,  incal- 
culable, with  its  infinite  capacity  for  sheltering 
the  criminal. 

"  — But,  darling,"  said  Philippa,  some  quarter 
of  an  hour  later,  as  we  proceeded  down  the  avenue 
in  the  vaulted  darkness  of  the  beech-trees  (and  I 
at  once  realised  that  she  had  undertaken  the  case 
for  the  defence),  *'  you've  no  reason  to  suppose 
that  they  took  the  car  any  farther  than  the  hall 
door." 

"  It  is  the  last  time  that  it  will  be  taken  to  that 
hall  door,"  I  replied,  going  dead  slow,  with  my 
head  over  the  side  of  the  car,  listening  to  un- 
familiar sounds  in  its  interior — sounds  that  did 
not  suggest  health.  "  I  should  like  to  know  how 
many  of  your  young  friends  went  on  the  trip " 

222 


T!he  'Bosom  of  the  Mc^rys 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Philippa  pityingly,  **  I 
ask  you  if  it  is  likely  that  there  would  have  been 
more  than  two,  when  one  of  them  was  the  lady 
with  the  mandoline!  And,"  she  proceeded  with 
cat-like  sweetness,  "  I  did  not  perceive  that  you 
took  a  party  with  you  when  you  retired  to  the 
hall  with  your  old  friend  Miss  Bennett,  and  left 
me  to  cope  single-handed  with  the  mob  for  about 
an  hour ! " 

**  Whether  there  were  two  or  twenty-two  of 
them  in  the  car,"  I  said,  treating  this  red  herring 
with  suitable  contempt,  **  I've  done  with  your 
McRorys." 

I  was,  very  appropriately,  in  the  act  of  passing 
through  the  Temple  Braney  entrance  gates  as  I 
made  this  pronouncement,  and  it  was  the  climax 
of  many  outrages  that  the  steering-gear,  shaken 
by  heaven  knows  what  impacts  and  brutalities, 
should  suddenly  have  played  me  false.  The  car 
swerved  in  her  course — fortunately  a  slow  one — 
and  laid  her  bonnet  impulsively  against  the 
Temple  Braney  gate  pillar,  as  against  a  loved 
one's  shoulder. 

As  we  regained  our  composure,  two  tall  forms 
appeared  in  the  light  of  the  head  lamps,  and  one 
of  them  held  up  his  hand.  I  recognised  a  police 
patrol. 

"  That's  the  car  right  enough,"  said  one  of 
223 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

them.  He  advanced  to  my  side.  **  I  want  your 
name,  please.  I  summons  you  for  furious  driving 
on  the  high  road,  without  lights,  a  while  ago,  and 
refusing  to  stop  when  called  on  to  do  so.  Go 
round  and  take  the  number,  M'Caffery." 

When,  a  few  days  later,  the  story  flowed  over 
and  ran  about  the  country,  some  things  that  were 
both  new  and  interesting  came  to  my  ears. 

Flurry  Knox  said  that  Bobby  Bennett  had  sold 
me  her  old  mare  by  moonlight  in  the  Temple 
Braney  yard,  and  it  was  a  great  credit  to  old 
McRory's  champagne. 

Mrs.  Knox,  of  Aussolas,  was  told  that  I  had 
taken  Mrs.  McRory  for  a  run  in  the  car  at  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  on  hearing  it  said 
**  De  gustibus  non  est  disputandum." 

Some  one,  unknown,  repeated  this  to  Mrs. 
McRory,  and  told  her  that  it  meant  "You  cannot 
touch  pitch  without  being  disgusted." 

Mrs.  Cadogan,  my  cook,  reported  to  Philippa 
that  the  boy  who  drove  the  bread-cart  said  that 
it  was  what  the  people  on  the  roads  were  saying 
that  the  Major  was  to  be  fined  ten  pounds  ;  to 
which  Mrs.  Cadogan  had  replied  that  it  was  a 
pity  the  Major  ever  stood  in  Temple  Braney,  but 
she  supposed  that  was  laid  out  for  him  by  the 
Lord. 

224 


IX 

PUT    DOWN    ONE    AND    CARRY   TWO 

The  promise  of  that  still  and  moonlit  December 
night,  wherein  we  had  bean-feasted  with  the 
McRorys,  was  shamelessly  broken. 

The  weather  next  morning  was  a  welter  of 
wind  and  mist,  with  rain  flung  in  at  intervals. 
The  golden  fox  on  the  stable  weathercock  was 
not  at  peace  for  a  moment,  facing  all  the  southern 
points  of  the  compass  as  if  they  were  hounds  that 
held  it  at  bay.  For  my  part,  I  do  not  know  why 
people  go  out  hunting  on  such  days,  unless  it  be 
for  the  reason  that  many  people  go  to  church,  to 
set  an  example  to  others. 

Philippa  said  she  went  because  she  had  done 
her  hair  for  riding  before  she  could  see  out  of  the 
window — a  fiction  beneath  the  notice  of  any 
intelligent  husband.  I  went  because  I  had  told 
my  new  groom,  Wilson  (an  English  disciplinarian), 
that  I  was  going,  and  I  was  therefore  caught  in 
the  cogs  of  the  inexorable  wheel  of  stable  routine. 
I  also  went  because  I  nourished  a  faint  hope  that 
I  might  be  able  to  place  before  the  general  public, 
and  especially  before  Flurry  Knox,  an  authentic 

225  p 


In  Mr.   Knoxs  Country 

first  version  of  the  McRory  episode.  More- 
over, I  had  a  headache ;  but  this  I  was  not 
going  to  mention,  knowing  that  the  sun  never 
sets  upon  the  jests  consecrated  to  after-dinner 
headaches. 

As  we  rode  away  from  Shreelane,  and  felt  the 
thick  small  rain  in  our  faces,  and  saw  the  spray 
blown  off  the  puddles  by  the  wind,  and  heard  the 
sea-gulls,  five  miles  inland,  squealing  in  the  mist 
overhead,  I  said  that  it  was  preposterous  to  think 
of  hunting  at  Lonen  Hill  in  such  weather,  and 
that  I  was  going  home.  Philippa  said  that  we 
might  as  well  go  on  to  the  meet,  to  exercise  the 
horses,  and  that  we  could  then  come  straight 
home.  (I  have  a  sister  who  has  said  that  I  am  a 
lath  painted  to  look  like  iron,  and  that  Philippa  is 
iron  painted  to  look  like  a  lath.) 

The  meet  was  in  shelter,  the  generous  shelter 
of  Lonen  Hill,  which  interposed  itself  between  us 
and  the  weather.  There  is  just  space  for  the 
road,  between  the  shore  of  Lough  Lonen  and  the 
southern  face  of  the  hill,  that  runs  precipitously 
up  into  the  sky  for  some  six  hundred  feet,  dark 
with  fir-trees,  and  heather,  and  furze,  fortified 
with  rock — a  place  renowned  as  a  fastness  for 
foxes  and  woodcock  (whose  fancies  as  to  desir- 
able winter  residences  generally  coincide).  One 
would  have  thought  that  only  a  pack  of  monkeys 

226 


Tut  Down  One  and  Carry  Two 

could  deal  with  such  a  covert,  but  hounds 
went  through  it,  and  so  did  beaters — or  said 
they  did. 

We  found  the  hounds  waiting  in  an  old  quarry 
under  the  side  of  the  hill,  and,  a  little  farther  on, 
a  very  small  and  select  company  of  waterproofs 
was  huddled  under  the  branches  of  a  fir-tree  that 
hung  over  the  road.  As  we  neared  them  I  recog- 
nised Miss  Bennett's  firm  and  capable  back :  she 
was  riding  the  black  mare  that  she  had  come 
over  to  **pass  on"  to  old  McRory.  It  was 
Philippa  who  pointed  out  that  she  was  accom- 
panied by  Miss  Larkie  McRory,  seated  on  a  stout 
and  shaggy  animal,  whose  grey  hindquarters 
were  draped  by  the  folds  of  its  rider's  voluminous 
black  macintosh,  in  a  manner  that  recalled  the 
historic  statue  of  the  Iron  Duke.  Farther  on, 
Mrs.  Flurry  and  her  mother,  the  redoubtable 
Lady  Knox,  were  getting  out  of  a  motor  and 
getting  themselves  on  to  their  horses. 

**  There's  room  under  the  umbrella  for  Mrs. 
Yeates!"  called  out  Miss  Bennett  hospitably, 
"  but  the  Major  must  find  one  for  himself,  and  a 
very  big  one,  too  !  " 

**We  could  make  room  for  him  here,"  said 
Miss  Larkie  McRory,  **  if  he  liked  to  come." 

I  maintained,  I  hope,  an  imperturbable  demean* 
our,  and  passed  on. 

227 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

**  Who  is  that  ? "  said  Lady  Knox,  approach- 
ing me,  on  her  large  and  competent  iron 
grey. 

I  informed  her,  briefly,  and  without  prejudice. 

**Oh,  one  of  that  crew,"  said  Lady  Knox, 
without  further  comment. 

Lady  Knox  is  not  noted  for  receptive  sympathy, 
yet  this  simple  statement  indicated  so  pleasingly 
our  oneness  of  soul  in  the  matter  of  the  McRorys, 
that  I  was  on  the  verge  of  flinging  overboard  the 
gentlemanlike  scruples  proper  to  a  guest,  and 
giving  her  the  full  details  of  last  night's  revel. 
At  this  moment,  however,  her  son-in-law  came 
forth  from  the  quarry  with  his  hounds,  and  his 
coadjutors.  Dr.  Hickey  and  Michael,  and  moved 
past  us. 

''Yeatesl"  he  called  out,  "I'd  be  obliged  to 
you  if  you'd  take  that  point  up  on  the  hill,  on  the 
down-wind  side,  where  he  often  breaks."  He 
looked  at  me  with  a  serious,  friendly  face.  "He 
won't  break  dowtiy  you  know — it's  only  motors 
do  that." 

This  witticism,  concocted,  no  doubt,  in  the 
seclusion  of  the  quarry,  called  for  no  reply  on  my 
part — (or,  to  be  accurate,  no  suitable  reply  pre- 
sented itself).  There  was  an  undoubted  titter 
among  the  waterproofs  ;  I  moved  away  upon  my 
mission  at  a  dignified  trot :  a  trot  is  seldom  digni- 

228 


Vut  Down  One  and  Carry  Two 

fied,  but  Daniel  has  dignity  enough  for  himself 
and  his  rider. 

Daniel  stands  sixteen  hands  two  inches  in  his 
stockings,  of  which  he  wears  one  white  one,  the 
rest  of  his  enormous  body  being  of  that  unlovely 
bluish-dun  colour  to  which  a  dark  bay  horse  turns 
when  clipped.  His  best  friend  could  not  deny 
that  he  **  made  a  noise  "  ;  his  worst  enemy  was 
fain  to  admit  that  he  was  glad  to  hear  it  in  front 
of  him  at  a  nasty  place.  Some  one  said  that  he 
was  like  a  Settled  Religious  Faith,  and  no  lesser 
simile  conveys  the  restful  certainty  imparted  by 
him.  It  was  annoying,  no  doubt,  to  hear  people 
say,  after  I  had  accomplished  feats  of  consider- 
able valour,  that  that  horse  couldn't  make  a  mis- 
take, and  a  baby  could  ride  him  ;  but  these  were 
mere  chastenings,  negligible  to  the  possessor  of  a 
Settled  Religious  Faith. 

I  trotted  on  through  the  rain,  up  a  steep  road 
seamed  with  watercourses,  with  Lonen  Hill 
towering  on  my  left,  and  a  lesser  hill  on  my  right. 
Looking  back,  I  saw  Flurry  dismount,  give  his 
horse  to  a  boy,  and  clamber  on  to  the  wall  of  the 
road :  he  dropped  into  the  wood,  and  the  hounds 
swarmed  over  after  him,  looking  like  midgets 
beside  the  tremendous  citadel  that  they  were  to 
attack.  Hickey  and  Michael,  equally  dwarfed 
by  the  immensities  of  the  position,  were  already 

229 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

betaking  themselves  through  the  mist  to  their 
allotted  outposts  in  space.  Five-and-twenty  couple 
of  hounds  would  have  been  little  enough  for  that 
great  hill-side  ;  Flurry  had  fifteen,  and  with  them 
he  began  his  tough  struggle  through  the  covert, 
a  solitary  spot  of  red  among  pine-stems,  and 
heather,  and  rocks,  cheering  his  fifteen  couple 
with  horn  and  voice,  while  he  climbed  up  and 
up  by  devious  ways,  seemingly  as  marvellously 
endowed  with  wind  as  the  day  itself.  I  cantered 
on  till,  at  the  point  where  the  wood  ended,  it  be- 
came my  melancholy  duty  to  leave  the  road  and 
enter  upon  the  assault  of  the  hill.  I  turned  in  at 
a  gap  beside  the  guardian  thorn-bush  of  a  holy 
well,  on  whose  branches  votive  rags  fluttered  in 
the  wind,  and  addressed  Daniel  to  his  task  of 
carrying  thirteen  stone  up  an  incline  approxi- 
mating to  a  rise  of  one  in  three. 

A  path  with  the  angles  of  a  flash  of  lightning 
indicated  the  views  of  the  local  cow  as  to  the 
best  method  of  dealing  with  the  situation.  Daniel 
and  I  accepted  this,  as  we  had  done  more  than 
once  before,  and  we  laboured  upwards,  parallel 
with  the  covert,  while  the  wind,  heavy  with  mist, 
came  down  to  meet  us,  and  shoved  against  us 
like  a  living  thing.  We  gained  at  length  a  shelf 
on  the  hill-side,  and  halting  there  in  the  shelter 
of  a  furzy  hummock,  I  applied  myself  to  my  job. 

230 


Tut  Down  One  and  Carry  Two 

From  the  shelf  I  commanded  a  long  stretch  of 
the  boundary  wall  of  the  wood,  including  a  certain 
gap  which  was  always  worthy  of  special  attention, 
and  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  -I  bent  a  zealous  and 
travelling  gaze  upon  the  wall,  with  the  concentra- 
tion of  a  professor  of  a  Higher  Thought  Society. 

As  is  not  unusual  in  such  cases,  nothing 
happened.  At  rare  intervals  a  hint  of  the  cry  of 
hounds  was  carried  in  the  wind,  evanescent  as  a 
whiff  from  a  summer  garden.  Once  or  twice  it 
seemed  to  swing  towards  me,  and  at  such  moments 
the  concentration  of  my  eyeglass  upon  the  gap 
was  of  such  intensity  that  had  the  fox  appeared  I 
am  confident  that  he  would  instantly  have  fallen 
into  a  hypnotic  trance.  As  time  wore  on  I  arrived 
at  the  stage  of  obsession,  when  the  music  of  the 
hounds  and  the  touches  of  the  horn  seemed  to  be 
in  everything,  the  wind,  the  streams,  the  tree 
branches,  and  I  could  almost  have  sworn  hounds 
were  away  and  running  hard,  until  some  vagrant 
voice  in  the  wood  would  dispel  the  mirage  of 
sound.  This  was  followed  by  the  reactionary 
period  of  pessimism,  when  I  seemed  to  myself 
merely  an  imbecile,  sitting  in  heavy  rain,  staring 
at  a  stone  wall.     Half  an  hour,  or  more,  passed. 

"  I'm  going  out  of  this,"  I  said  to  myself  de- 
fiantly ;  **  there's  reason  in  the  roasting  of  eggs." 

It  seemed,  however,  my  duty  to  go  up  rather 
231 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

than  down,  and  I  coerced  Daniel  into  the  bed 
of  a  stream,  as  offering  the  best  going  available. 
It  led  me  into  a  cleft  between  the  hill-side  and  the 
wall  of  the  covert,  which  latter  was,  like  a  thing 
in  a  fairy  tale,  changing  very  gradually  from  a 
wall  into  a  bank.  I  ascended  the  cleft,  and 
presently  found  that  it,  too,  was  changing  its 
nature,  and  becoming  a  flight  of  stairs.  Daniel 
clattered  slowly  and  carefully  up  them,  basing  his 
feet,  like  Sir  Bedivere,  on  *'juts  of  slippery  crag 
that  rang  sharp-smitten  with  the  dint  of  arm^d 
heels." 

We  had  reached  the  top  in  safety  when  I 
heard  a  thin  and  wavering  squeal  behind  me, 
and  looking  back  saw  Miss  Larkie  McRory 
ascending  the  rocky  staircase  on  the  grey  cob, 
at  a  speed  that  had  obviously,  and  legitimately, 
drawn  forth  the  squeal. 

**Oh,  gracious!  The  brute!  I  can't  stop 
him !  *'  she  cried  as  she  rushed  upon  me. 

The  grey  cob  here  bumped  into  Daniel's  mas- 
sive stern,  rebounded,  and  subsided,  for  the  ex- 
cellent reason  that  no  other  course  was  open  to 
it.  Miss  McRory's  reins  were  clutched  in  a 
looped  confusion,  that  summoned  from  some 
corner  of  my  brain  a  memory  of  the  Sultan's 
cipher  on  the  Order  of  the  Medjidie :  her  hat 
was  hanging  down  her  back,  and  there  was  a 

232 


'T^ut  Down  One  and  Carry  Two 

picturesqueness  about  her  hair  that  promised 
disaster  later  on.  Her  hazel  eyes  shone,  and  her 
complexion  glowed  like  a  rose  in  rain. 

"Mr.  Irving's  fit  to  be  tied!"  she  continued. 
"  His  horse  jumped  about  like  a  mad  thing  when 
he  saw  those  awful  steps ! " 

Sounds  of  conflict  and  clattering  came  from 
below.  I  splashed  onwards  in  the  trough  between 
the  hill  and  the  fence,  and  had  emerged  into  a 
comparatively  open  space  with  my  closely  atten- 
dant McRory,  when  the  impassioned  face  of  Mr. 
Irving's  Meath  mare  shot  into  view  at  the  top 
of  the  steps.  The  water  in  the  trough  was 
apparently  for  her  the  limit  of  what  should  or 
could  be  endured.  She  made  a  crooked  spring 
at  the  hill-side,  slipped,  and,  recognising  the  bank 
as  the  one  civilised  feature  in  a  barbarous  country, 
bounced  sideways  on  to  the  top  of  it,  pivoted 
there,  and  sat  down  backwards  into  a  thicket  of 
young  ash  and  hazel  trees.  A  succession  of 
short  yells  from  Miss  McRory  acclaimed  each 
phase  of  the  incident ;  Mr.  Irving's  face,  as  he 
settled  down  amongst  the  branches,  was  as  a 
book  where  men  might  read  strange  matters,  not 
of  an  improving  nature. 

It  was  probably  the  reception  accorded  to  the 
bay  mare  by  the  branches  and  briars  in  which 
she  had  seated  herself  that  caused  her  to  return 

233 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

to  the  top  of  the  bank  in  a  kangaroo-bound,  as 
active  as  it  was  unexpected.  Horses  can  do 
these  things  when  they  choose,  but  they  seldom 
choose.  From  the  top  of  the  bank  she  dropped 
into  the  trough,  and  joined  us,  with  her  nerves 
still  in  a  state  of  acute  indignation,  and  less  of 
her  rider  in  the  saddle  than  is  conventional, 
but  a  dinge  in  his  pot-hat  appeared  to  be  the 
extent  of  the  damage.  Miss  McRory's  eye 
travelled  from  it  to  me,  but  she  abstained  from 
comment.  It  was  the  eye  of  a  villain  and  a  con- 
spirator. I  had  by  no  means  forgotten  the  in- 
juries inflicted  on  me  by  her  brothers,  nor  did  I 
forget  that  Flurry  had  said  that  there  wasn't  one 
of  the  family  but  was  as  clever  as  the  devil  and 
four  times  as  unscrupulous.  Yet,  taken  in  con- 
junction with  the  genuineness  of  her  complexion, 
and  with  the  fact  that  Irving  was  probably  twenty 
years  my  junior,  *'  I  couldn't " — as  the  song  says 
— "help  smiling  at  McRory  O'More"  (behind 
the  back  of  young  Mr.  Irving,  D.I.). 

It  transpired  that  Irving,  from  some  point  of 
vantage  below,  shared,  it  would  appear,  with 
Miss  McRory,  had  seen  the  hounds  running  out  of 
the  top  of  the  wood,  and  had  elected  to  follow 
me.  He  did  not  know  where  any  one  was,  had 
not  heard  a  sound  of  the  horn,  and  gave  it  as  his 
opinion  that  Flurry  was  dead,  and  that  trying  to 

234 


^ut  Down  One  and  Carry  Two 

hunt  in  this  country  was  simply  farcical.  He 
bellowed  these  things  at  me  in  his  consequential 
voice  as  we  struggled  up  the  hill  against  the 
immense  weight  of  wind,  in  all  the  fuss,  anxiety, 
and  uncertainty  out  of  which  the  joys  of  hunting 
are  born.  It  was  as  we  topped  the  ultimate 
ridge  that,  through  the  deafening  declamations 
of  the  wind,  I  heard,  faint  as  a  bar  of  fairy  music, 
distant  harmonies  as  of  hounds  running. 

The  wind  blew  a  hole  in  the  mist,  and  we  had 
a  bird's-eye  view  of  a  few  pale-green  fields  far 
below :  across  one  of  them  some  pigmy  forms 
were  moving ;  they  passed  over  a  dark  line  that 
represented  a  fence,  and  proceeded  into  the  heart 
of  a  cloud. 

**  That's  about  the  limit,"  shouted  Irving,  drag- 
ging at  his  mare's  mouth,  as  she  swerved  from  a 
hole  in  the  track.  **  It's  only  in  this  God-forsaken 
country  that  a  fox'd  go  away  in  the  teeth  of  a 
storm  like  this ! " 

To  justify  to  Mr.  Irving  the  disregard  of  the 
Lonen  Hill  foxes  for  the  laws  of  the  game  was 
not  my  affair.  It  seemed  to  me  that  in  piloting 
him  and  Miss  McRory  I  was  doing  rather  more 
than  humanity  had  any  right  to  expect.  I  have 
descended  Lonen  Hill  on  various  occasions,  none 
of  them  agreeable,  but  never  before  with  an 
avalanche  travelling  hard  on  my  heels — a  com- 

235 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

posite  avalanche  that  slid,  and  rushed,  and 
dropped  its  hind-legs  over  the  edge  at  bad 
corners,  and  was  throughout  vocal  with  squeals, 
exclamations,  inquiries  as  to  facts  of  which 
Providence  could  alone  be  cognisant,  and  thun- 
derous with  objurgations.  The  hill-side  merged 
at  length  into  upland  pasture,  strange  little  fields, 
composed  partly  of  velvet  patches,  like  putting- 
greens,  predominantly  of  nightmare  bunkers  of 
rocks  and  furze.  We  rushed  downwards  through 
these,  at  a  pace  much  accelerated  by  the  pre- 
valence of  cattle  gaps ;  the  bay  mare,  with  her 
head  in  the  air,  zigzagging  in  bounds  as  incal- 
culable as  those  of  a  grasshopper ;  the  grey  cob, 
taking  sole  charge  of  Miss  McRory,  tobogganing 
with  her  hind  feet,  propping  with  her  fore,  and 
tempering  her  enthusiasm  with  profound  under- 
standing of  the  matter.  Finally,  a  telegraph- 
post  loomed  through  the  fog  upon  us,  and  a 
gate  discovered  itself,  through  which  we  banged 
in  a  bunch  on  to  the  high  road.  A  cottage  faced 
us,  with  a  couple  of  women  and  an  old  man 
standing  outside  it. 

To  them  we  put  the  usual  question,  with  the 
usual  vehemence  (always  suggestive  of  the 
King's  Troopers  in  romance,  hotly  demanding 
information  about  a  flying  rebel). 

"  I  didn't  see  a  fox  this  long  while,"  replied 
236 


Vut  Down  One  and  Carry  Two 

the  old  man  deliberately,  **but  there  was  a  few 
jocks  went  west  the  road  a  while  ago." 

The  King's  Troopers,  not  specially  enlightened, 
turned  their  steeds  and  went  in  pursuit  of  the 
jocks.  A  stone  gap,  flung  in  ruins  among  black 
hoof-marks,  soon  gave  a  more  precise  indication, 
and  we  left  the  road,  with  profound  dubiety  on 
my  part  as  to  where  we  were  going  and  how 
we  were  going  to  get  there.  The  first  fence 
decided  the  matter  for  Irving,  D.I.  It  was  a 
bank  on  which  slices  of  slatey  stone  had  been 
laid,  much  as  in  Germany  slabs  of  cold  sausage 
are  laid  upon  bread.  The  Meath  mare  looked 
at  it  but  once,  and  fled  from  it  at  a  tangent; 
the  grey  pony,  without  looking  at  it,  followed 
her.  Daniel  selected  an  interval  between  the 
slabs,  and  took  me  over  without  comment. 
Filled  by  a  radiant  hope  that  I  had  shaken  off 
both  my  companions,  I  was  advancing  in  the 
line  of  the  hoof-tracks,  when  once  more  I  heard 
behind  me  on  the  wind  cries  as  of  a  storm-driven 
sea-gull,  and  the  grey  cob  came  up  under  my 
stirrup,  like  a  runaway  steam  pinnace  laying 
itself  beside  a  man-o'-war.  Miss  McRory  was 
still  in  the  saddle,  but  minus  reins  and  stirrup ; 
the  wind  had  again  removed  her  hat,  which  was 
following  her  at  full  stretch  of  its  string,  like  a 
kite.     Had   it  not  been  for  her  cries  I  should 

237 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

have  said,  judging  by  her  face,  that  she  was 
thoroughly  enjoying  herself. 

Having  achieved  Daniel's  society  the  cob  pulled 
up,  and  her  rider,  not  without  assistance  from 
me,  restored  her  hat,  reins,  and  stirrup  to  their 
proper  spheres.  I  looked  back,  and  saw  Irving's 
mare,  still  on  the  farther  side  of  the  fence,  her 
nose  pointing  to  the  sky,  as  if  invoking  the  pro- 
tection of  heaven,  and  I  knew  that  for  better 
for  worse  Miss  McRory  was  mine  until  we  reached 
the  high  road.  No  doubt  the  thing  was  to  be : 
as  one  of  our  own  poets  has  sung  of  Emer  and 
Cuchulain,  '*all  who  read  my  name  in  Erin's 
story  would  find  its  loving  letters  linked  with" 
those  of  McRory.  The  paraphrase  even  rhymed 
— another  finger-mark  of  Fate.  Yet  it  was  hard 
that,  out  of  all  the  possible,  and  doubtless  eager, 
squires  of  the  hunting-field  I  should  have  been 
chosen. 

The  hoof-tracks  bent  through  a  long  succes- 
sion of  open  gaps  to  a  farmyard,  and  there  were 
swallowed  in  the  mire  of  a  lane.  I  worked  the 
lane  out  for  every  inch  it  was  worth,  with  the 
misty  rain  pricking  my  face  as  it  were  with 
needles,  and  the  intention  to  go  home  at  the 
earliest  possible  opportunity  perfecting  itself  in 
my  heart.  But  the  lane,  instead  of  conducting 
us  to  the  high  road,  melted  disastrously  into  a 

238 


^ut  Down  One  and  Carry  Two 

turf  bog.  I  pulled  up,  and  the  long  steady 
booming  of  the  sea  upon  the  rocks  made  a  deep 
undertone  to  the  wind.  There  was  no  voice  of 
hound  or  horn,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  return- 
ing to  the  farmhouse  when  the  mist,  in  its  stagey, 
purposeful  way,  again  lifted,  and  laid  bare  the 
sky-line  of  a  low  hill  on  our  left.  A  riderless 
horse  was  limping  very  slowly  along  it,  led  by 
something  that  seemed  no  higher  than  a  toad- 
stool. Obviously  we  were  on  the  line  of  the 
hunt,  and  obviously,  also,  it  was  my  duty  to 
enquire  into  the  matter  of  the  horse.  I  turned 
aside  over  a  low  bank,  hotly  followed  by  the 
grey  cob,  and  the  wail  to  which  I  was  now 
becoming  inured.  As  Miss  McRory  arrived 
abruptly  at  my  side,  she  cried  that  she  would 
have  been  off  that  time  only  for  the  grab  she 
got  of  his  hair.  (By  which  I  believe  she  meant 
the  mare's  mane.) 

Fortune  favoured  us  with  broken-down  fences  ; 
we  overtook  the  horse,  and  found  it  was  Flurry 
Knox's  brown  mare,  hobbling  meekly  in  tow  of 
a  very  small  boy.  In  one  of  her  hind  fetlocks 
there  was  a  clean,  sharp  cut  that  might  have 
been  done  with  a  knife. 

In  answer  to  my  questions  the  small  boy 
pointed  ahead.  I  polished  my  eyeglass,  and, 
with  eyes  narrowed  against  the  wind,  looked  into 

239 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

the  south-west,  and  there  saw,  unexpectedly, 
even  awfully  near,  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  dingy 
and  angry,  with  a  long  line,  as  of  battle-smoke, 
marking  its  assault  upon  the  cliffs.  Between 
the  cliffs  and  the  hill  on  which  we  were  stand- 
ing a  dark  plateau,  striped  with  pale  grey  walls, 
stretched  away  into  the  mist. 

**  There's  the  huntsman  for  ye,"  squeaked  the 
little  boy,  who  looked  about  six  years  old. 

I  descried  at  a  distance  of  perhaps  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  a  figure  in  a  red  coat,  on  foot,  in  the 
act  of  surmounting  one  of  the  walls,  accompanied 
by  a  hovering  flock  of  country  boys. 

**The  dogs  is  out  before  him,"  pursued  the 
little  boy  at  the  full  pitch  of  his  lungs.  '*  I  seen 
the  fox,  too.  I'll  go  bail  he  has  himself  housed 
in  the  Coosheen  Grohogue  by  now." 

"  Gracious !  "  said  Miss  McRory. 

I  said  he  probably  had  a  simpler  telegraphic 
address,  and  that,  no  matter  where  he  was,  it  was 
now  my  duty  to  overtake  Mr.  Knox  and  offer  him 
my  horse ;  "  and  you,"  I  added,  **  had  better  get 
this  little  boy  to  show  you  the  way  to  the  road." 

Miss  McRory  replied  confidently  that  she'd 
sooner  stay  with  me. 

I  said,  as  well  as  I  remember,  that  her  prefer- 
ence was  highly  flattering,  but  that  she  might 
live  to  regret  it. 

240 


^ut  Down  One  and  Carry  Two 

Miss  McRory  answered  that  she  wished  I 
wouldn't  be  spying  at  her  through  that  old  glass 
of  mine  ;  she  knew  well  enough  she  was  a  show, 
and  her  hair  was  coming  down,  and  she'd  as  soon 
trust  herself  to  the  cat  as  to  that  little  urchin. 

As  I  made  my  way  downwards  over  the  knife- 
edged  ridges  of  rock  and  along  their  intervening 
boggy  furrows,  I  should  myself  have  been  grate- 
ful for  the  guidance  of  the  cat.  Even  the  grey 
cob  accepted  the  matter  as  serious,  and  kept  the 
brake  hard  on,  accomplishing  the  last  horrid 
incident  of  the  descent — a  leap  from  the  slant  of 
the  hill  on  to  the  summit  of  a  heathery  bank — 
without  frivolity,  even  with  anxiety.  We  had 
now  arrived  at  the  plateau  above  the  cliffs — 
a  place  of  brown,  low-growing  ling,  complicated 
by  boggy  runnels,  and  heavily  sprinkled  with 
round  stones.  The  mist  was  blowing  in  thicker 
than  ever,  Flurry  and  his  retinue  were  lost  as 
though  they  had  never  been,  and  the  near 
thunder  of  the  breakers,  combined  with  the  wind, 
made  an  impenetrable  din  round  me  and  Miss 
McRory. 

After  perhaps  a  mile,  in  the  course  of  which  I 
got  off  several  times  to  pull  down  loose  walls  for 
the  benefit  of  my  companion,  I  discovered  the 
rudiments  of  a  lane,  which  gradually  developed 
into  a  narrow  but  indubitable  road.     The  rain 

241  Q 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

had  gone  down  the  back  of  my  neck  and  into  my 
boots :  I  determined  that  if  Flurry  had  to  finish 
the  run  on  all-fours,  I  would  stick  to  the  lane 
until  it  took  me  to  a  road.  What  it  took  me  to 
was,  as  might  have  been  foreseen  in  any  County 
Cork  bohireen,  a  pole  jammed  across  it  from  wall 
to  wall  and  reinforced  by  furze-bushes — not  a 
very  high  pole,  but  not  one  easy  to  remove.  I 
pulled  up  and  looked  dubiously  from  it  to  Miss 
McRory. 

**  D'ye  dare  me  ?"  she  said. 

**  I  bet  you  sixpence  you  take  a  toss  if  you  do," 
I  replied  firmly,  preparing  to  dismount. 

"  Done  with  you !  "  said  Miss  McRory,  suddenly 
smiting  the  grey  cob  with  a  venomous  little 
cutting  whip  (one  that  probably  dated  from  the 
sixties,  and  had  for  a  handle  an  ivory  grey- 
hound's head  with  a  plaited  silver  collar  round 
its  neck). 

I  have  seldom  seen  a  pole  better  and  more 
liberally  dealt  with,  as  far  as  the  grey  cob's  share 
of  the  transaction  went,  and  seldom,  indeed,  have 
I  seen  a  rider  sail  more  freely  from  a  saddle  than 
Miss  McRory  sailed.  She  alighted  on  her  hands 
and  knees,  and  the  cob,  with  the  sting  of  the 
whip  still  enlivening  her  movements,  galloped  on 
up  the  lane  and  was  lost  in  the  mist. 

"Well,  you   won   your  sixpence,"  said    Miss 
242 


^ut  Down  One  and  Carry  Two 

McRory  dauntlessly,  as  I  joined  her.     "  I  suppose 
you're  delighted." 

I  assured  her  with  entire  sincerity  that  I  was 
very  much  the  reverse,  and  proceeded  at  high 
speed  in  pursuit  of  the  cob.  The  result  of  this 
excursion — a  fairly  prolonged  one — was  the  dis- 
covery that  the  lane  led  into  a  road,  and  that  it 
was  impossible  to  decide  in  which  direction  the 
fugitive  had  gone.  I  returned  in  profound  gloom 
to  my  young  lady,  and  found  her  rubbing  herself 
down  with  a  bunch  of  heather. 

"  So  you  couldn't  ketch  her !  "  she  called  out  as 
I  approached.  ''  What'll  we  do  now  ?  "  She  was 
evidently  highly  amused.  "  I'll  tell  the  Peeler  it 
was  your  fault.     You  dared  me !  '* 

My  reply  need  not  be  recorded :  I  only  know 
it  was  by  no  means  up  to  the  standard  to  which 
Miss  McRory  was  accustomed. 

I  took  what  seemed  to  be  the  only  possible 
course,  and  established  her  seated  sideways  on 
my  saddle,  with  her  foot — and  it  is  but  fair  to  say, 
a  very  small  foot — in  the  leather  instead  of  the 
stirrup,  and  her  right  hand  knotted  in  Daniel's 
mane.  I  held  the  off  stirrup,  and  splashed  beside 
her  in  the  ruts  and  mud.  The  mist  was  thicker 
than  ever,  the  wind  was  pushing  it  in  from  the 
sea  in  great  masses,  and  Miss  McRory  and  I  pro- 
gressed onward  in  a  magic  circle  of  some  twenty 

243 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

yards  in  diameter,  occupied  only  by  herself  and 
me,  with  Daniel  thrown  in  as  chaperon. 

On  arriving  at  the  road  I  relied  on  the  wind  for 
guidance,  and  turning  to  the  right,  let  it  blow  us 
in  what  was,  I  trusted,  our  course.  It  was  by 
this  time  past  three  o'clock,  we  were  at  least  nine 
or  ten  miles  from  home,  and  one  of  my  boots  had 
begun  to  rub  my  heel.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  keep  on  as  we  were  going,  until  we  met 
something,  or  some  one,  or  died. 

It  is  worthy  of  record  that  in  these  afflicting 
circumstances  Miss  Larkie  McRory  showed  a 
staying  power,  attained,  probably,  in  the  long  and 
hungry  bicycle  picnics  of  her  tribe,  that  was 
altogether  commendable.  Not  for  an  instant  did 
she  fail  to  maintain  in  me  the  belief  that  she 
found  me  one  of  the  most  agreeable  people  she 
had  ever  met,  a  little  older,  perhaps,  than  Irving, 
D.I.,  but  on  that  very  account  the  more  to  be 
confided  in.  It  was  not  until  the  pangs  of  hunger 
recalled  to  me  the  existence  of  my  sandwiches  that 
I  discovered  she  had  no  food  with  her,  nor,  as  far 
as  could  be  gathered,  had  she  had  any  breakfast. 

"Sure  they  were  all  snoring  asleep  when 
I  started.  I  just  got  a  cup  o'  tea  in  the 
kitchen " 

This,  I  suppose,  was  a  point  at  which  I  might 
suitably  have  said  something  incisive  about  the 

244 


^ut  Down  One  and  Carry  Two 

feats  of  her  brethren  on  the  previous  night,  but 
with  deplorable  weakness  I  merely  offered  her 
my  sandwiches.  Miss  McRory  replied  that  she'd 
fall  off  in  a  minute  if  she  were  to  let  go  the  mane, 
and  why  wouldn't  I  eat  them  myself?  I  said  if 
there  were  any  shelter  left  in  Ireland  I  would 
wait  till  I  got  there,  and  we  could  then  decide 
who  should  eat  them. 

iEons  of  mist  and  solitude  ensued.  I  must 
have  walked  for  an  hour  or  more,  without  meet- 
ing anyone  except  one  old  woman,  who  could 
only  speak  Irish,  and  I  had  begun  to  feel  as  if  my 
spur  were  inside  my  boot  instead  of  outside, 
when  I  became  aware  of  something  familiar 
about  the  look  of  the  fences.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, until  I  felt  shelter  rising  blessedly  about  us, 
and  saw  the  thorn  bush  with  the  rags  hanging 
from  it,  that  I  realised  that  our  luck  had  turned, 
and  we  had  blundered  our  way  back  to  the  holy 
well  under  the  side  of  Lonen  Hill.  The  well 
was  like  a  tiny  dripping  cave,  about  as  big  as  a 
beehive,  with  a  few  inches  of  water  in  it ;  a  great 
boulder  stood  guard  over  it,  and  above  it  stooped 
the  ancient  and  twisted  thorn  bush.  It  seemed 
indicated  as  a  place  of  rest,  none  the  less  that  my 
heel  was  by  this  time  considerably  galled  by  my 
boot. 

Miss  McRory  glissaded  from  my  saddle  into 
245 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

my  arms,  and  was  assisted  by  me  to  deposit 
herself  on  a  flat  stone  beside  the  well,  stiff,  wet, 
but  still  undefeated.  We  shared  my  sandwiches, 
we  drank  whisky  mixed  with  the  water  of  the 
holy  well,  and  Miss  McRory  dried  her  face  with 
her  handkerchief,  and  her  complexion  looked 
better  than  ever.  Daniel,  slowly  and  deliberately, 
ate  the  rags  off  the  thorn  bush.  I  have  been  at 
many  picnics  that  I  have  enjoyed  less. 

By  the  time  we  had  got  to  the  gingerbread 
biscuits  I  had  discovered  that  Mr.  Irving  thought 
she  had  talked  too  much  to  me  after  dinner  last 
night,  and  that  it  was  a  wonder  to  her  how  men 
could  be  so  cross  about  nothing.  I  said  I  was 
sorry  she  called  it  nothing,  at  which  she  looked 
up  at  me  and  down  again  at  the  gingerbread,  and 
did  not  reply.  After  this  I  felt  emboldened  to 
ask  her  why  she  had  been  called  so  inappropriate 
a  name  as  "  Larkie." 

Miss  McRory  agreed  that  it  was  indeed  a  silly 
old  name,  and  that  it  was  a  friend  of  one  of  her 
brothers,  a  Mr.  Mulcahy,  who  had  said  that  she 
and  her  sisters  were  "  'Lorky  little  gurls  with 
lorge  dork  eyes.'  He  had  that  way  of  speaking," 
she  added,  **  because  he  thought  it  was  grand, 
and  he  always  kept  his  watch  at  English  time. 
He  said  he  ran  over  to  London  so  often  it  wasn't 
worth  while  to  change  it." 

246 


^ut  Down   One  and  Carry  Two 

She  herself  had  never  been  out  of  Ireland,  and 
she  supposed  she'd  never  get  the  chance. 

I  said  that  when  she  married  Mr.  Mulcahy  she 
could  keep  her  watch  at  Irish  time,  so  as  to 
equalise  things. 

Miss  McRory  suggested  that  I  should  give  her 
a  watch  as  a  wedding  present,  and  that,  English 
or  Irish  time,  it  would  be  all  hours  of  the  night 
before  we  were  home. 

I  realised  with  a  slight  shock  that  the  position 
had  indeed  become  inverted  when  one  of  the 
House  of  McRory  had  to  remind  me,  after  about 
four  hours  in  her  undiluted  society,  of  the  flight 
of  time.  It  was  now  past  four,  which  was  bad 
enough,  and  a  still  greater  shock  awaited  me  in 
the  discovery  that  I  was  dead  lame,  the  interval 
of  repose  having  been  fatal  to  my  damaged 
heel. 

I  have  always  asserted,  and  shall  continue  to 
do  so  to  my  dying  day,  that  the  way  out  of  the 
difficulty  was  suggested  by  Miss  McRory.  I 
mounted  Daniel,  Miss  McRory  ascended  the 
boulder  by  the  holy  well,  announcing  that  she 
was  as  stiff  as  fifty  crutches,  and  that  once  she 
got  up  she'd  be  there  for  life.  The  thing  was 
done  somehow,  thanks  to  the  incomparable  for- 
bearance of  Daniel,  and  with  Miss  McRory  seated 
behind  me   on    his    broad    back,    and    her  arms 

247 


In  Mr,   Knoois  Country 

clasped  round  my  waist,  I  once  more,  and  very 
cautiously,  took  the  road. 

Daniel  continued  to  conduct  himself  like  a 
gentleman,  but  considering  how  precarious  was 
the  position  of  Miss  McRory,  it  was  unnerving 
to  feel  her  shaken  by  silent  and  secret  laughter. 

'*  You'll  fall  off,"  I  warned  her. 

She  replied  by  a  further  paroxysm,  and  asked 
me  what  size  I  took  in  stays — she  supposed  about 
forty  inches. 

Dusk  was  now  an  accomplished  fact :  thickened 
with  fog  and  rain,  it  was  even  turning  to  darkness 
as  we  descended  the  long  hill.  But,  humanly 
speaking,  the  end  was  in  sight.  There  was,  I 
knew,  a  public-house  a  couple  of  miles  farther  on, 
where  a  car  might  be  hired,  and  there  I  proposed 
to  bid  a  long  farewell  to  Miss  Larkie  McRory, 
and  to  send  her  home  by  herself,  to  have  rheumatic 
fever,  as  I  assured  her. 

We  moved  on  and  on,  at  a  careful  foot-pace : 
we  were  out  in  the  wind  again,  and  it  was  very 
cold.  It  was  also  quite  dark.  Silence  fell  upon 
us,  and,  after  a  time,  the  sustained  pressure  of 
Miss  McRory's  hat-brim  against  my  shoulder 
suggested  that  it  was  the  silence  of  exhaustion,  if 
not  of  sleep.  I  thought  of  her  with  compassion. 
I  believe  I  formulated  her  to  myself  as  a  poor  little 
girl,  and  found  myself  asserting  with  defiance  to 

248 


Tut  Down  One  and  Carry  Two 

imaginary  detractors  that  no  one  could  say  she 
hadn't  pluck,  and  that,  in  spite  of  her  family,  she 
really  had  a  soul  to  be  saved. 

Again  we  found  ourselves  in  shelter,  and  a 
greater  darkness  in  the  darkness  told  that  we 
were  in  the  lee  of  a  wooded  hill.  I  knew  where 
I  was  now,  and  I  said  to  Miss  McRory  that  the 
pub  was  just  round  the  corner,  and  she  replied 
at  once  that  that  was  where  they  always  were,  in 
Dublin  anyway.  She  also  said  she  thought  she 
heard  horses'  hoofs  coming  up  behind  us.  I 
pushed  on. 

We  turned  the  corner,  and  were  immediately 
struck  blind  by  the  twin  glare  of  the  lamps  of  a 
motor,  that  lay  motionless,  as  in  ambush,  at  the 
side  of  the  road.  Even  the  equanimity  of  Daniel 
was  shattered  ;  he  swung  to  one  side,  he  drifted 
like  a  blown  leaf,  and  Miss  McRory  clung  to  me 
like  a  knapsack.  As  we  curveted  in  the  full 
glare  of  the  limelight,  I  was  aware  of  a  figure  in 
a  pot-hat  and  a  vast  fur  coat  standing  near  the 
motor.  Even  as  I  recognised  Lady  Knox  three 
or  four  muddy  hounds  trailed  wearily  into  the 
glare,  and  a  voice  behind  me  shouted,  "  'Ware 
horse!" 

Flurry  came  on  into  the  light :  there  was  just 
room  in  me  for  a  sub-conscious  recognition  of  the 
fact  that  he  was  riding  the  missing  grey  cob,  and 

249 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

that  this  was  a  typical  thing,  and  one  that  might 
have  been  expected. 

At  the  hunt  dinner  that  took  place  soon  after- 
wards some  one  sang  a  song,  one  that  I  have 
ceased  to  find  amusing.  The  first  verse  runs  as 
follows  : 

"  Throttin'  to  the  Fair, 
Me  and  Moll  Moloney, 
Sittin',  I  declare, 

On  a  single  pony " 

By  a  singular  coincidence,  the  faces  of  all 
those  present  turned  towards  me. 


250 


X 

THE    COMTE    DE    PRALINES 

"  I  HAD  forgotten  how  nice  London  is ! "  purred 
Philippa,  as  we  moved  beautifully  across  the 
threshold  of  Bill  Cunningham's  club,  and  were 
conducted  to  the  lift  with  a  tender  deference  that 
was  no  more  than  was  due  to  our  best  clothes. 

The  Ladies'  Tea-room  at  Bill's  club  was  a 
pleasant  place,  looking  forth,  high  above  the 
noise,  upon  trees  that  were  yellow  in  the  hazy 
October  afternoon.  In  a  very  agreeable  bow- 
window  were  Lady  Derryclare  and  the  tea-table, 
and  with  her  were  her  son,  and  a  small  and  orna- 
mental young  man,  who  was  introduced  to  us  as 
Mr.  Simpson- Hodges. 

"  Front  name  John,  known  to  a  large  circle 
of  admirers  as  '  Mossoo,' "  supplemented  Bill, 
whose  hands  were  so  clean  that  I  found  it 
difficult  to  recognise  him. 

**  So  called  because  of  the  incredible  circum- 
stance that  he  can  speak  French,  in  spite  of  the 
best  Public  School  education,"  said  Lady  Derry- 
clare. **  When  I  think  of  the  money  that  has  been 
wasted  on  you !    You  good  for  nothing  creature !  " 

251 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

*' It's  more  his  looks,"  pursued  Bill,  "his  dark 
foreign  beauty 

"  These  humorists !  "  said  Mr.  Simpson- Hodges 
indulgently,  showing  a  set  of  white  teeth  under 
a  diminutive  black  moustache.  **  Please,  Lady 
Derryclare,  let's  talk  of  something  pleasant." 

"Ask  him  about  the  chickens  you  made  him 
get  from  the  Chicken  Farmers  for  the  dance  his 
regiment  gave,"  said  Bill  to  his  mother. 

*'  Oh,  that  was  rather  a  bad  business,"  said 
Mr.  Simpson- Hodges  apologetically,  with  an  eye 
on  Philippa,  who,  in  a  new  hat,  was  looking  about 
five-and-twenty.  **  I'm  sure  no  one  wants  to  hear 
about  it." 

**  Mossoo  ran  the  supper  and  he  ordered  three 
brace,"  said  Bill,  "  but  they  never  turned  up  till 
the  week  after  the  show !  The  postman  was 
viewed  coming  up  to  the  Mess  towing  something 
after  him  on  a  long  painter.  The  painter  was 
superfluous.  The  chickens  would  have  followed 
him  at  a  trot  if  he  had  been  kind  to  them.  They 
kept  them  for  the  drag,  I  believe.  Didn't  you, 
Mossoo  ?     He's  one  of  the  Whips,  you  know." 

**  They'd  have  been  quite  useful,"  admitted  Mr. 
Simpson-  H  odges. 

*'  How  interesting  to  be  a  Whip! "  said  Philippa, 
looking  at  him  with  egregious  respect. 

"Rather  too  interesting,  sometimes,"  replied 
252 


The  Comte  de  Pralines 

Simpson- Hodges,  expanding  to  the  glance  in  a 
way  not  unfamiliar  to  me.  "  Last  time  we  were 
out  the  fellow  with  the  drag  started  from 
the  cross-roads  where  we  were  going  to  meet, 
and  was  asinine  enough  to  take  it  a  bit  down 
the  road  before  he  went  into  the  country,  and, 
as  it  happened,  we  were  bringing  the  hounds 
up  to  the  meet  by  that  particular  road.  They 
simply  put  down  their  heads  and  ran  it  heel  for 
all  they  were  worth !  The  First  Whip  and  I 
galloped  our  best,  but  we  couldn't  get  to  their 
heads,  and  we  all  charged  into  the  middle  of  the 
meet  full-cry ! " 

"  Oh !  I  wish  I  had  been  there  I "  said  Philippa 
ardently. 

**  We  wished  we  were  anywhere  else,"  replied 
Mr.  Simpson-Hodges ;  **the  Brigadier  was  there, 
and  everybody.  We  heard  all  about  it  after- 
wards, I  can  tell  you !  " 

**  That  ought  to  have  happened  in  Mr.  Knox's 
country,  Major  Yeates ! "  said  Lady  Derryclare, 
whose  interest  in  fox-hunting  was  more  sym- 
pathetic than  technical. 

**  We  don't  run  drags.  Lady  Derryclare,"  I  said 
reproachfully,  but  Lady  Derryclare  had  already 
entered  upon  another  topic. 

Simpson- Hodges,  however,  did  not  end  there. 


253 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

A  week  afterwards  Philippa  and  I  crept  home, 
third  class,  with  full  trunks  and  empty  pockets, 
sustained  only  by  the  aphorism,  evolved  by  my 
wife,  that  economies,  and  not  extravagances,  are 
what  one  really  regrets.  It  was  approaching  the 
end  of  November  before  we  next  heard  of  Simp- 
son-Hodges. The  Derryclares  had  come  down  for 
their  first  woodcock  shoot,  and  Bill  swooped  over 
one  morning  in  the  big  Daimler  and  whirled  us 
back  with  him  over  the  forty  intervening  miles  of 
bog  and  mountain,  to  shoot,  and  to  dance  on  the 
carpet  after  dinner,  and  to  act  charades ;  to 
further,  in  short,  the  various  devices  for  exer- 
cising and  disciplining  a  house  party.  Mr. 
John  Simpson-Hodges  was  there,  no  less  orna- 
mental than  in  London,  and  as  useful  as  he  was 
ornamental.  He  shot  well,  he  danced  beautifully, 
and  he  made  of  the  part  of  a  French  Count  in  a 
charade  so  surprising  a  work  of  art  that  people 
said — as  is  the  habit  of  people — that  he  ought  to 
be  making  a  hundred  a  week  on  the  stage. 

Before  we  left  the  Derryclares  Philippa  told  me 
that  she  had  arranged  with  ** those  boys" — by 
which  she  referred  to  Mr.  Cunningham  and  the 
French  Count — to  come  over  next  week  and  have 
a  hunt  with  Flurry  Knox's  hounds.  Something 
whispered  to  me  that  there  was  more  in  this  than 
met  the  eye,  but  as  they  were  to  provide  their  own 

254 


T*he  Comte  de  Pralines 

mounts  the  position  was  unassailable,  and  I  con- 
tented myself  with  telling  her  that  a  predilection  for 
the  society  of  the  young  was  one  of  the  surest 
signs  of  old  age. 

It  was  not  till  we  were  all  seated  at  breakfast 
on  the  morning  of  the  meet  (which  was  to  be  at 
Castle  Knox),  that  it  was  suggested,  with  all  the 
spontaneity  of  a  happy  thought,  by  Bill,  that 
"  Mossoo  "  should  be  introduced  to  the  members 
of  the  Hunt  as  a  Frenchman  who  was  unable  to 
speak  English. 

"Call  him  the  Comte  de  Pralines,"  said  Philippa, 
with  suspicious  promptitude. 

"You  can  call  him  Napoleon  Buonaparte  if 
you  like,"  I  said  defiantly,  "/shall  stay  at  home ! " 

"All  the  Curranhilty  people  will  be  there,"  said 
Philippa  softly. 

The  thought  of  introducing  the  Comte  de 
Pralines  to  Miss  Bobbie  Bennett  was  certainly 
attractive. 

"  I  refuse  to  introduce  him  to  Lady  Knox," 
I  said  with  determination,  and  knew  that  I  had 
yielded. 

A  meet  at  Castle  Knox  always  brought  out 
a  crowd  ;  there  were  generally  foxes,  and  always 
luncheon,  and  there  was  a  touch  of  the  G.O.C. 
about  Lady  Knox  that  added  a  pleasing  edge 
of  anxiety,  and  raised  the  meet  to  something  of 

255 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

the  nature  of  a  full-dress  parade.  I  held  to  my 
point  about  Lady  Knox,  and  did  nothing  more 
compromising  than  tremble  in  the  background, 
while  Bill  Cunningham  presented  the  Comte  de 
Pralines  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  supplementing 
the  presentation  with  the  statements  that  this 
was  his  first  visit  to  Ireland,  and  that  he  spoke 
no  English. 

The  Comte  de  Pralines,  in  the  newest  of  pink 
coats,  and  the  whitest  of  breeches,  and  the  most 
glittering  of  boots  and  spurs,  stood  on  the  step 
below  Lady  Knox,  with  the  bridle  of  his  hireling 
over  his  arm,  and  his  shining  silk  hat  in  his 
hand.  Still  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  looking, 
as  Miss  Larkie  McRory  whispered  to  me,  '*as 
pretty  as  a  Christmas  card,"  the  Count  rippled 
forth  a  stream  of  mellifluous  French,  comment- 
ing upon  the  beauty  of  the  day,  of  the  place,  of 
the  scene. 

Lady  Knox's  face  deepened  to  so  apoplectic 
a  crimson,  and  her  eyes  became  so  fixed  that  I, 
watching  the  scene  apprehensively,  doubted  if  it 
were  not  my  duty  to  rush  at  her  and  cut  open 
her  hunting-stock.  When  the  Count  ceased, 
having,  as  far  as  I  could  gather,  enquired  as  to 
when  she  had  last  been  to  Auteuil,  and  if  she 
had  ever  hunted  in  France,  Lady  Knox  paused, 
and  said  very  slowly : 

256 


T^he  Comte  de  Pralines 

**  Y.x—fespere  que  nous  aurons  un  bon  jour 
aujourdhuir  Then,  rapidly,  to  me,  **  Take  your 
friend  in  for  a  drink.  Major  Yeates." 

My  heart  bled  for  her,  and  also  quaked  fot* 
myself,  but  I  was  into  it  now,  up  to  my  chin. 

During  the  next  ten  minutes  Bill  Cunningham, 
feebly  abetted  by  me,  played  the  game  remorse- 
lessly, sparing  neither  age  nor  sex.  In  the  hall, 
amidst  the  sloe-gins  and  the  whiskies  and  sodas 
(to  which  the  Count,  for  a  foreigner,  took  re- 
markably kindly),  introductions  slipped  between 
cup  and  lip,  poisoning  the  former  and  paralysing 
the  latter.  The  victims  took  it  variously;  some 
sought  refuge  in  bright  smiles  and  large  foreign 
gestures ;  some,  in  complete  mental  overthrow, 
replied  in  broken  English  to  Mossoo's  sugared 
periods  ;  all  were  alike  in  one  point,  they  moved 
as  swiftly  as  might  be,  and  as  far  as  possible, 
out  of  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  the 
Comte  de  Pralines.  Philippa,  who,  without  any 
solid  attainment,  can  put  up  a  very  good  bluff  in 
French,  joined  spasmodically  in  these  encounters, 
alternately  goading  Mossoo  to  fresh  outrages, 
and  backing  out  when  the  situation  became  too 
acute.  I  found  her,  affecting  to  put  her  sand- 
wiches into  the  case  on  her  saddle,  and  giving 
way  to  her  feelings,  with  her  face  pressed  against 
her  mare's  shoulder. 

257  R 


/;;  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

"  I  introduced  him  to  Bobbie  Bennett,'*  she 
said  brokenly;  **and  he  asked  her  if  she  spoke 
French.  She  looked  at  me  as  if  she  were  drown- 
ing, and  said,  *  Seulement  tres  petit '  /  " 

I  said,  repressively,  that  Lady  Knox  could  see 
her,  and  that  people  would  think,  firstly,  that  she 
was  crying,  and  secondly,  that  she  was  mad. 

**  But  I  am  mad,  darling ! "  replied  my  wife, 
turning  a  streaming  face  to  me. 

I  informed  her  of  my  contempt  for  her,  and, 
removing  myself  from  her  vicinity,  collected  my- 
self for  the  introduction  of  the  Count  to  Flurry 
Knox  and  Dr.  Hickey.  By  this  time  most  of  the 
Field  were  mounted,  and  the  Comte  de  Pralines 
bent  to  his  horse's  mane  as  he  uncovered  with 
grave  courtesy  on  his  presentation  to  the  Master 
and  the  First  Whip,  and  proceeded  to  express 
the  profundity  of  his  gratification  at  meeting  an 
Irish  Master  of  Hounds.  The  objects  of  the 
attention  were  palpably  discomposed  by  it ; 
Flurry  put  a  finger  to  his  cap,  with  a  look  at 
me  expressive  of  No  Surrender ;  Dr.  Hickey,  in 
unconscious  imitation  of  the  Count,  bowed  low, 
but  forgot  about  his  cap. 

"  He  has  no  English,  I'm  told,"  said  Flurry, 
eyeing  the  Count  suspiciously. 

I  stopped  myself  on  the  verge  of  bowing  assent, 
so  infectious  was  the  grace  of  the  Pralines  manner. 

258 


Miss  Larkie  McRory. 


The  Comte  de  Pralines 

**  Is  he  come  to  buy  horses  for  the  German 
Army  ? "  went  on  Flurry.  (It  need  hardly  be 
said  that  this  occurred  before  the  War.) 

I  explained  that  he  was  French. 

"  You  wouldn't  know  what  these  foreigners 
might  be  up  to,"  returned  Mr.  Knox,  quite  un- 
convinced.    **  I'm  going  on  now " 

He  too  moved  expeditiously  out  of  the  danger 
zone. 

The  Field  straggled  down  the  avenue,  and 
progressed  over  tracts  of  tussocky  grass  in  the 
wake  of  the  hounds,  towards  the  plantation  that 
was  the  first  draw.  The  Keeper  was  outside  the 
wood,  with  the  assurance  that  there  was  a  score 
of  foxes  in  it,  and  that  they  had  the  country  ate. 

**  Maybe  they'll  eat  the  hounds,  so,"  said 
Flurry.  *'  Let  you  all  stay  outside.  You  can  be 
talking  French  now  for  a  bit " 

I  looked  round  to  see  who  were  availing  them- 
selves of  this  permission.  The  Count  had  by 
this  time  been  introduced  to  Miss  Larkie 
McRory ;  Philippa  was  apparently  acting  as 
interpreter,  and  Miss  McRory  was  showing  no 
disposition  to  close  the  interview.  The  Field 
had  withdrawn,  and  had  formed  itself  into  a 
committee-meeting  on  the  Count. 

It  was  warm  and  sunny  in  the  shelter  of  the 
wood.     Although  the  time  was  November  there 

259 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

were  still  green  leaves  on  some  of  the  trees  ;  it 
was  a  steamy  day  after  a  wet  night,  and  I 
thought  to  myself  that  if  the  hounds  did  run — 
Here  came  a  challenge  from  the  wood,  answered 
multitudinously,  and  the  next  minute  they  were 
driving  through  the  laurels  towards  the  entrance 
gates,  with  a  cry  that  stimulated  even  the  many- 
wintered  Daniel  to  capers  quite  unbefitting  his 
time  of  life,  or  mine.  The  Castle  Knox  demesne 
is  a  largis  one,  and  being  surrounded  by  a  pro- 
hibitively high  and  coped  wall,  it  is  easier  to  find 
a  fox  there  than  to  get  away  with  one.  Mighty 
galloping  on  the  avenues  followed,  with  inter- 
ludes in  the  big  demesne  fields,  where  every  gate 
had  been  considerately  left  open,  and  in  which 
every  horse  with  any  pretensions  to  savoir  faire 
stiffened  his  neck,  and  put  up  his  back,  and 
pulled.  The  hounds,  a  choir  invisible,  carried 
their  music  on  through  the  plantations,  with 
whimpering,  scurrying  pauses,  with  strophe  and 
anti-strophe  of  soprano  and  bass.  Sometimes 
the  cry  bore  away  to  the  demesne  wall,  and 
some  one  would  shout  '*  They're  away ! "  and 
the  question  of  the  Front  Gate  versus  the 
Western  Gate  would  divide  us  like  a  sword. 
Twice,  in  the  undergrowth,  above  the  sunk  fence 
that  separated  us  from  the  wood,  the  quick,  com- 
posed face  of  the  fox  showed  itself ;  at  last,  when 

260 


The  Comte  de  Pralines 

things  were  getting  too  hot  in  the  covert,  he 
sprang  like  a  cat  over  the  ditch,  and  flitted  across 
the  park  with  that  gliding  gait  that  dissimulates 
its  own  speed,  while  I  and  my  fellows  offered  a 
painful  example  of  the  discordance  of  the  human 
voice  when  compared  with  that  of  the  hound, 
and  five  or  six  couple  pitched  themselves  out  of 
the  wood  and  stretched  away  over  the  grass. 

It  was  fortunate  for  the  Comte  de  Pralines 
that  his  entirely  British  view-holloa  was  pro- 
jected for  the  most  part  into  my  ear  (the  drum 
of  which  it  nearly  split)  and  was  merged  in  the 
general  enthusiasm  as  we  let  ourselves  go. 

**For  God's  sake,  Major  Yeates!'*  said 
Michael,  the  Second  Whip,  thundering  up 
beside  me  as  we  neared  the  covert  on  the 
further  side  of  the  park,  "come  into  the  wood 
with  me  and  turn  them  hounds!  Mr.  Flurry's 
back  on  another  fox  with  the  body  of  the  pack, 
and  he's  very  near  his  curse ! " 

I  followed  Michael  into  the  covert,  and  was 
myself  followed  by  a  section  of  the  Field,  who 
might,  with  great  advantage,  have  remained 
outside.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  Michael 
was  absorbed  into  the  depths  of  the  wood  ;  so 
also  were  the  six  couple,  but  not  so  my  retinue, 
who  pursued  me  like  sleuth-hounds,  as  I  traversed 
the  covert  at  such  speed  as  the  narrow  rides  per- 

261 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

mitted.  I  made  at  length  the  negative  discovery 
that  it  contained  nothing  save  myself  and  my 
followers,  a  select  party,  consisting  of  the  Comte 
de  Pralines,  Miss  McRory,  Miss  Bobbie  Bennett, 
Lady  Knox's  coachman  on  a  three-year-old,  and 
a  little  boy  in  knickerbockers,  on  a  midget  pony 
with  the  bearing  of  a  war-horse  and  a  soul  to 
match.  We  had  come  to  a  baffled  pause  at  the 
cross-ways,  when  faint  and  far  away,  an  indis- 
putable holloa  was  borne  to  us. 

"They've  gone  out  the  West  Gate,"  said  the 
coachman,  from  among  the  tree- trunks  into  which 
he  had  considerately  manoeuvred  the  kicking  end 
of  the  three-year-old.  **  It  must  be  they  ran 
him  straight  out  into  the  country " 

We  made  for  the  West  Gate,  reached  it  with- 
out sight  or  sound  of  Flurry  or  anyone  else,  and, 
on  the  farm  road  outside  it,  pulled  up  to  listen. 

The  holloa  was  repeated ;  half  a  mile  ahead  a 
gesticulating  figure  signalled  to  us  to  come  on. 
I  wish  to  put  it  on  record  that  I  said  I  could  not 
hear  the  hounds.  The  Comte  de  Pralines  (ex- 
citable, like  all  Frenchmen)  spurred  his  hireling 
at  the  opposite  bank,  saying,  as  he  shot  past 
me: 

"  It's  no  damned  use  humbugging  here  any 
longer! " 

As  I  turned  Daniel  to  follow  him,  my  eyes 
262 


T!he  Comte  de  Pralines 

met  those  of  Miss  Larkie  McRory,  alight  with 
infernal  intelligence ;  they  challenged,  but  at  the 
same  time  they  offered  confederacy.  I  jumped 
into  the  field  after  the  Count;  Miss  McRory 
followed. 

*'  I'll  tell  Lady  Knox  on  you!"  she  murmured, 
as  she  pounded  beside  me  on  the  long-legged 
spectre,  who,  it  may  be  remembered,  had  been 
described  as  **the  latther  end  of  a  car-horse." 

The  holloa  had  come  to  us  from  the  side  of 
a  smooth  green  hill,  and  between  us  and  it  was 
a  shallow  valley,  neatly  fenced  with  banks  that 
did  credit  to  Sir  Valentine  Knox's  farming. 
The  horses  were  fresh,  the  valley  smiled  in  the 
conventional  way,  and  spread  sleek  pastures  be- 
fore us ;  we  took  the  down  grade  at  a  cheerful 
pace,  and  the  banks  a  shade  faster  than  was 
orthodox,  and  the  coachman's  three-year-old  made 
up  in  enthusiasm  what  he  lacked  in  skill,  and 
the  pony,  who  from  the  first  was  running  away, 
got  over  everything  by  methods  known  only  to 
itself.  The  Comte  de  Pralines  held  an  undeviat- 
ing  line  for  the  spot  whence  the  holloa  had 
proceeded ;  when  we  reached  it  there  was  no 
one  to  be  seen,  but  there  was  another  holloa 
further  on.  The  pursuit  of  this  took  us  on  to 
a  road,  and  here  the  Castle  Knox  coachman, 
who  had  scouted  on  ahead,  yelled  something  to 

261 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

the  effect  that  he  saw  a  rider  out  before  him, 
accompanying  the  statement  by  an  application 
of  the  spurs  to  the  dripping  but  undaunted  three- 
year-old.  A  stretching  gallop  up  the  road  ensued, 
headed  by  the  little  boy  and  the  coachman,  who 
had  both  secured  a  commanding  lead.  The  pace 
held  for  about  a  hundred  yards,  when  the  road 
bent  sharply  to  the  left,  more  sharply  indeed 
than  was  anticipated  by  the  leaders,  who,  as  their 
mounts  skidded  as  it  were  on  one  wheel  round 
the  corner,  sailed  from  their  saddles  with  singular 
unanimity  and  landed  in  the  ditch.  At  the 
same  moment  the  rider  we  had  been  following 
came  into  view ;  he  was  a  priest,  in  immaculate 
black  coat  and  top-hat,  seated  on  a  tall  chestnut 
horse,  and  proceeding  at  a  tranquil  footpace  on 
his  own  affairs. 

He  had  seen  the  fox,  he  admitted  (I  am  in- 
clined to  think  he  had  headed  him),  and  he  had 
heard  a  man  shouting,  but  no  hounds  had  come 
his  way.  He  was  entirely  sympathetic,  and, 
warm  as  I  was  at  the  moment,  a  chill  apprehen- 
sion warned  me  that  we  might  presently  need 
sympathy. 

"  It's  my  belief,"  said  Miss  Bennett,  voicing 
that  which  I  had  not  put  into  words,  **  we've 
been  riding  after  the  fox,  and  the  hounds  didn't 
leave  the  covert  at  all !  " 

264 


'The  Comte  de  Pralines 

An  elaborate  French  oath  from  the  Count  fell, 
theatrical  as  a  drop-scene,  on  the  close  of  the 
first  act.  Miss  Larkie  McRory  looked  at  him 
admiringly,  and  allowed  just  the  last  rays  of  her 
glance  to  include  me. 

It  was  when  we  had  retraced  our  steps  to  the 
bend  of  the  road  that  we  had  a  full  view  of  the 
Castle  Knox  coverts,  crowning  in  gold  and 
brown  those  pleasant  green  slopes,  easy  as  the 
descent  to  Avernus,  down  which  we  had  galloped 
with  such  generous  ardour  some  fifteen  minutes 
ago.  Outside  the  West  Gate,  through  which 
we  had  emerged  from  the  demesne,  were  three 
motionless  figures  in  scarlet ;  Lady  Knox  and  her 
grey  horse  were  also  recognisable  ;  a  few  hounds 
were  straying  undecidedly  in  the  first  of  the  grass 
fields  that  we  had  traversed. 

A  note  of  the  horn  leaped  to  us  across  the 
valley,  an  angry  and  peremptory  note.  One  of 
the  scarlet  figures  started  at  a  canter  and  turned 
the  hounds.  Another  and  longer  blast  followed. 
As  if  in  obedience  to  its  summoning,  the  coach- 
man's three-year-old  came  ramping,  riderless, 
down  the  road ;  he  passed  us  with  his  head  high 
in  air  and  his  flashing  eye  fixed  upon  the  distant 
group,  and,  with  a  long  shrill  neigh,  put  his  tail 
over  his  back  and  directed  his  flight  for  his 
owner  and  her  grey  horse. 

265 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

"God  help  poor  Tierney  !  "  said  Miss  Bennett, 
in  a  stricken  voice,  "and  ourselves  too!  I  believe 
they  saw  us  all  the  time,  and  we  galloping  away 
on  the  line  of  the  fox  ! " 

"  I'm  going  home,'*  I  said.  "Will  you  kindly 
make  my  apologies  to  the  Master  ?  " 

"  I'll  kindly  do  no  such  thing,"  replied  Miss 
Bennett.  "I'll  let  Flurry  Knox  cool  off  a  bit 
before  I  meet  him  again,  and  that  won't  be  this 
side  of  Christmas,  if  /  can  help  it!  Good-bye, 
dear  friends!" 

She  turned  her  mare,  and  set  her  face  for  her 
own  country. 

There  now  remained  only  the  Count,  Miss 
McRory,  and  myself,  and  to  remove  ourselves 
from  the  field  of  vision  of  the  party  at  the  gate 
was  our  first  care.  We  had,  no  doubt,  been 
thoroughly  identified,  nevertheless  the  immediate 
sensation  of  getting  a  furzy  hill  between  us  and 
Flurry  was  akin  to  that  of  escaping  from  the 
rays  of  a  burning-glass.  In  shelter  we  paused 
and  surveyed  each  other. 

The  Comte  de  Pralines,  with  his  shiny  hat 
very  much  on  the  back  of  his  head,  put  down  his 
reins,  shoved  his  crop  under  his  knee,  and  got 
out  his  cigarette  case. 

"Well,"  he   began  philosophically,  striking  a 

match,  "  our  luck  ain't  in !  " 

266 


T^he  Comte  de  Pralines 

He  broke  off,  the  match  went  out,  and  a  lively 
glow  suffused  his  unsheltered  countenance. 

"  Vous  voyez  mon  cher — "  he  resumed,  very 
rapidly.    ''  fai  appris  quelques petits  mots " 

**  What  a  lovely  English  accent  he  has !  '* 
interrupted  Miss  McRory  rapturously ;  "  it's  a 
lot  nicer  than  his  French  one.  To  look  at  him 
you'd  never  think  he  was  so  clever.  It's  a  pity 
he  wouldn't  try  to  pick  up  a  little  more." 

"  Now,  that's  hitting  a  man  when  he's  down," 
said  the  Comte  de  Pralines.  **  I  want  some  one 
to  be  kind  to  me.  I've  had  a  poor  day  of  it; 
no  one  would  talk  to  me.  I  stampeded  them 
wherever  I  went." 

.    "  I  didn't  notice  Miss  McRory  stampeding  to 
any  great  extent,"  I  said. 

**  Wait  awhile !  "  rejoined  Miss  McRory.  "  May- 
be the  stampeding  will  be  going  the  other  way 
when  you  and  he  meet  Lady  Knox !  " 

"  I  shan't  wait  an  instant,"  said  the  Comte 
de  Pralines,  **  you  and  Major  Yeates  will  ex- 
plain." 

The  horses  had  been  moving  on,  and  the 
covert  was  again  in  sight,  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away  on  our  left.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  seen,  but  hounds  were  hunting  again  in 
the   demesne ;   their   cry  drove  on  through  the 

267 


In  Mr.   Knoxs  Country 

woods  inside  the  grey  demesne  wall ;  they  were 
hunting  in  a  body,  and  they  were  hunting 
hard. 

At  each  moment  the  cry  was  becoming  more 
remote,  but  it  was  still  travelling  on  inside  the 
wall.  The  fear  of  Flurry  fell  from  us  as  a  gar- 
ment, and  the  only  question  that  presented 
itself  was  whether  to  return  to  the  West  Gate 
or  to  hold  on  outside.  It  was  a  long-accepted 
theory  at  Castle  Knox  that  the  demesne  wall 
was  not  negotiable,  and  that  the  foxes  always 
used  the  gates,  like  Christians ;  bearing  this  in 
mind,  I  counselled  the  Front  Gate  and  the  out- 
side of  the  wall.  A  couple  of  lanes  favoured 
us ;  we  presently  found  ourselves  in  a  series  of 
marshy  fields,  moving  along  abreast  of  the  in- 
visible hounds  in  the  wood.  They  were  in  the 
thickest  and  least  accessible  part  of  it,  and 
Flurry's  voice  and  horn  came  faintly  as  from  a 
distance. 

I  explained  that  it  was  impossible  to  ride  that 
part  of  the  wood,  but  that,  if  they  held  on  as 
they  were  going,  the  Front  Gate  would  make 
it  all  right  for  us,  and  of  course  Flurry 
would 

**Oh!  look,  look,  look!"  shrieked  Miss 
McRory,  snatching  at  my  arm  and  pointing  with 
her  whip. 

?68 


T'he  Comte  de  T^ralines 

A  short  way  ahead  of  us  a  huge  elm  tree  had 
fallen  upon  the  wall ;  the  greenish-yellow  leaves 
still  clinging  to  its  branches  showed  that  the 
catastrophe  was  recent.  It  had  broken  down 
the  wall  to  within  five  or  six  feet  of  the  ground, 
and  was  reclining  in  the  breach  that  it  had 
made,  with  its  branches  sprawling  in  the  field. 
I  followed  the  line  of  Miss  Larkie's  whip,  and 
was  just  in  time  to  see  a  fox  float  like  a  red 
leaf  from  one  of  these  to  the  ground,  and  glide 
straight  across  our  front.  He  passed  out  of 
sight  over  a  bank,  and  the  Count  stood  up  in 
his  stirrups,  put  his  finger  in  his  ear,  and 
screamed  in  a  way  that  must  have  been  heard 
in  the  next  county.  I  contributed  a  not  in- 
effective bellow,  and  Miss  McRory  decorated  the 
occasion  with  long  thin  squeals. 

The  hounds,  inside  the  wall,  answered  in  an 
agony  that  was  only  allayed  by  the  discovery 
that  the  trunk  of  the  tree  formed  as  handy  a 
bridge  for  them  as  for  the  fox.  They  came 
dropping  like  ripe  fruit  through  the  branches, 
and,  under  our  rejoicing  eyes,  swarmed  to  the 
fox's  line,  and  flung  on,  in  the  fullest  of  full-cry, 
over  the  bank  on  which  we  had  last  seen  him. 
I  have  not  failed  to  assure  Flurry  Knox  that 
anything  less  suggestive  of  **  sneaking  away  with 
the  hounds"  than  the  manner  of  our  departure 

269 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

could  hardly  be  conceived,  but   Mr.    Knox  has 
not  withdrawn  the  phrase. 

It  may  be  conceded  that  Flurry  had  grounds 
for  annoyance.  Had  I  had  the  fox  in  one  hand 
and  the  Ordnance  Map  in  the  other,  I  could 
hardly  have  improved  on  the  course  steered  by 
our  pilot.  Up  hill  for  a  bit,  when  the  horses 
were  fresh,  with  gradients  just  steep  enough  to 
temper  Danfel's  well-sustained  tug  of  war,  yet 
not  so  steep  as  to  make  a  three-foot  bank  look 
like  a  house,  or  to  guarantee  a  big  knee  at  each 
*' stone  gap."  Then  high  and  dry  country,  with 
sheep  huddled  in  defensive  positions  in  the 
corners  of  the  fields,  and  grass  like  a  series  of 
putting-greens,  minus  the  holes,  and  fat,  comely 
banks,  and  thin  walls,  from  which  the  small 
round  stones  rattled  harmlessly  as  Miss  McRory's 
car-horse  swept  through  them.  Down  into  a 
long  valley,  with  little  sky-blue  lakes,  set  in 
yellow  sedge ;  and  there  was  a  helpful  bog  road 
there,  that  nicked  nicely  with  the  bending  line 
of  the  hounds  through  the  accompanying  bog, 
and  allayed  a  spasm  of  acute  anxiety  as  to 
whether  we  should  ever  get  near  them  again. 
Then  upwards  once  more,  deviously,  through 
rougher  going,  with  patches  of  low-growing  furze 
sprouting  from  blackened  tracts  where  the  hill- 
side had  been  set  on  fire,  with  the  hounds  coming 

270 


T'he  Comte  de  'Pralines 

to  their  noses  among  brakes  of  briars  and  bracken; 
finally,  in  the  wind  and  sun  of  the  hill-top,  a  well- 
timed  check. 

We  looked  back  for  the  first  time,  half  in  fear 
that  we  might  find  Flurry  hot  on  our  track,  half 
in  hope  that  he  and  his  horn  were  coming  to  our 
help ;  but  neither  in  the  green  country  nor  in  the 
brown  valley  was  there  any  sign  or  sound  of 
him.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a  couple 
of  men  standing  on  a  fence  to  watch  us,  nothing 
to  be  heard  except  cur  dogs  vociferating  at  every 
cottage. 

**  Fifteen  couple  on,"  said  the  Count  profes- 
sionally. **  How  many  does  Knox  usually  have 
out?" 

"  All  he's  got,"  I  said,  mopping  my  brow. 

**  I  don't  see  the  two  that  have  no  hair  on 
their  backs,"  said  Miss  McRory,  whose  eyes, 
much  enhanced  by  the  radiant  carmine  of  her 
cheeks,  beamed  at  us  through  wisps  and  loops 
of  hair.  **  I  know  them,  they're  always  scratch- 
ing, the  poor  things  I  " 

That  Miss  McRory  and  her  steed  kept,  as 
they  did,  their  place  in  what  is  known  to  history 
as  the  Great  Castle  Knox  Run,  is  a  matter  that 
I  do  not  pretend  to  explain.  Some  antiquarian 
has  unearthed  the  fact  that  the  car-horse  had 
three  strains  of  breeding,  and  had  twice  been 

271 


In  Mr.  Knox*s  Country 

second  in  a  Point-to- Point ;  but  I  maintain  that 
credit  must  be  ascribed  to  Miss  Larkie,  about 
whom  there  is  something  inevitable  ;  some  street- 
boy  quality  of  being  in  the  movement. 

We  were  now  on  a  heathery  table-land,  with 
patches  of  splashy,  rushy  ground,  from  which  the 
snipe  flickered  out  as  the  hounds  cast  themselves 
through  it.  Presently,  on  the  top  of  a  hard,  peaty 
bank,  a  hound  spoke,  hesitatingly,  yet  hopefully, 
and  plunged  down  on  the  other  side;  the  pack 
crowded  over,  and  drove  on  through  the  heather. 
Daniel  changed  feet  on  a  mat  of  ling  with  a  large 
stone  in  it,  and  therefrom  ramped  carefully  out 
over  a  deep  cut  in  the  peat,  unforeseen,  and 
masked  by  tufts  of  heather.  The  hireling  of  the 
Comte  de  Pralines  had,  up  to  this,  done  his  work 
blamelessly,  if  without  originality ;  he  had  an 
anxiousness  to  oblige  that  had  been  matured 
during  a  dread  winter  when  he  had  been  the 
joint  property  of  three  subalterns,  but  he  reserved 
to  himself  a  determination  to  drop  economically 
off  his  banks,  and  boggy  slits  were  not  in  his  list 
of  possibilities. 

How  the  matter  occurred  I  do  not  know,  but, 
when  I  looked  round,  his  head  alone  was  visible, 
and  the  Count  was  standing  on  his  in  the  heather. 
Miss  McRory's  car-horse,  who  had  pulled  up  in 
the  act  of  following  the  Count,  with  a  suddenness 

272 


The  Comte  de  'Pralines 

acquired,  no  doubt,  in  the  shafts  of  a  Cork  covered- 
car,  was  viewing  the  scene  with  horror  from  the 
summit  of  the  bank.  The  hounds  were  by  this 
time  clear  of  the  heather,  and  were  beginning  to 
run  hard  ;  it  was  not  until  I  was  on  the  further 
side  of  the  next  bank  that  I  cast  another  fleeting 
look  back ;  this  time  the  Count  was  standing  on 
his  feet,  but  the  hireling  was  still  engulfed,  and 
Miss  McRory  was  still  on  the  wrong  side  of  the 
slit.  After  that  I  forgot  them,  wholly  and  heart- 
lessly, as  is  invariable  in  such  cases. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had  no  attention  to  spare 
for  anyone  but  myself,  even  though  we  went,  for 
the  first  twenty  minutes  or  so,  as  on  rubber  tyres, 
through  bland  dairy  farms  wherein  the  sweet 
influences  of  the  dairy-cow  had  induced  gaps  in 
every  fence,  and  gates  into  every  road.  The 
scent,  mercifully  for  Daniel,  was  not  quite  what 
it  had  been  ;  the  fox  had  run  through  cattle,  and 
also  through  goats  (a  small  and  odorous  party, 
on  whose  behalf,  indeed,  some  slight  intervention 
on  my  part  was  required),  and  it  was  here,  when 
crossing  a  road,  that  a  donkey  and  her  foal, 
moved  by  some  mysterious  attraction  akin  to 
love  at  first  sight,  attached  themselves  to  me. 
Undeterred  by  the  fact  that  the  mother's  foreleg 
was  fettered  to  her  hind,  the  pair  sped  from  field 
to  field  in  my  wake  ;  at  the  checks,  which  just 

275  s 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

then  were  frequent,  they  brayed  enthusiastically. 
I  thought  to  elude  them  at  a  steep  drop  into  a 
road,  but  they  toboganned  down  it  without  an 
effort;  when  they  overtook  me  the  fetter-chain 
was  broken,  and  clanked  from  the  mother's  hind- 
leg  as  if  she  were  a  family  ghost. 

There  came  at  length  a  moment,  outside  a 
farm-house,  when  it  seemed  as  if  the  fox  had 
beaten  us.  Here,  on  the  farther  side  of  Castle 
Knox,  I  was  well  out  of  my  own  country,  and 
what  the  fox's  point  might  be  was  represented 
by  the  letter  X.  Nevertheless  it  was  here  that  I 
lifted  the  hounds  and  brought  off  the  cast  of  a  life- 
time ;  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he  had  lain 
down  under  a  hayrick  and  was  warned  of  our 
approach  by  the  voices  of  my  attendant  jackasses  ; 
my  cast  was  probably  not  much  more  of  a  fluke 
than  such  inspirations  usually  are,  but  the  luck 
was  with  me.  Old  Playboy,  sole  relic  of  my 
deputy  Mastership,  lifted  his  white  head  and 
endorsed  my  suggestion  with  a  single  bass  note ; 
Rally,  Philippa's  prize  puppy,  uttered  a  soprano 
cadenza,  and  the  pack  suddenly  slid  away  over 
the  pasture  fields,  with  the  smoothness  and  una- 
nimity of  the  Petits  Chevaux  over  their  green 
cloth. 

It  was  now  becoming  for  Daniel  and  me  some- 
thing of  an  effort  to  keep  our  proud  and  lonely 

274 


l^he  Comte  de  Pralines 

place  in  or  about  the  next  field  to  the  hounds. 
The  fields  were  coming  smaller,  the  gaps  fewer ; 
Daniel  had  no  intention  of  chucking  it,  but  he 
gave  me  to  understand  that  he  meant  to  take  the 
hills  on  the  second  speed.  And,  unfortunately, 
the  hills  were  coming.  The  hounds,  by  this  time 
three  fences  ahead,  flung  over  a  bank  on  the  up- 
grade, a  bank  that  would  give  pause  for  reflection 
at  the  beginning  of  a  run.  I  tried  back,  scrambled 
into  a  lane,  followed  it  up  the  hill,  with  the  cry  of 
the  hounds  coming  fainter  each  minute,  dragged 
a  cart  wheel  and  a  furze  bush  out  of  a  gap  with 
my  crop,  found  myself  in  a  boggy  patch  of  turnips, 
surrounded  by  towering  fuchsia  hedges,  and 
realised  that  the  pack  had  passed  in  music  out  of 
sight. 

I  stood  still  and  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was 
already  an  hour  and  twenty  minutes  from  the 
word  *'  Go  !  "  and  the  hounds  were  not  only  gone 
but  were  still  going.  A  man  who  has  lost  hounds 
inevitably  follows  the  line  of  least  resistance.  I 
retired  from  the  turnip  field,  and  abandoned 
myself  to  the  lane,  which  seemed  not  disinclined 
to  follow  the  direction  in  which  the  hounds  had 
been  heading.  Since  the  hayrick  episode  they 
had  been  running  right-handed,  and  the  lane  bent 
right-handed  over  the  end  of  the  hill,  and  pre- 
sently deposited  me  on  a  road.     It  was  one  of 

275 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

the  moments  when  the  greatness  of  the  world 
is  borne  in  upon  the  wayfarer.  There  was  a 
spacious  view  from  the  hill-side  ;  three  parishes, 
at  least,  offered  themselves  for  my  selection,  and  I 
surveyed  them,  solitary  and  remote  as  the  even- 
ing star,  and  with  no  more  reason  than  it  for 
favouring  one  more  than  another.  A  harrowing, 
and,  by  this  time,  but  too  familiar  cry,  broke  on 
my  ear,  an  undulating  cry  as  of  a  thing  that 
galloped  as  it  roared.  My  admirers  were  still 
on  my  trail  ;  I  gave  Daniel  a  touch  of  the  spurs 
and  trotted  on  to  the  right. 

No  human  being  was  visible,  but  some  way 
ahead  there  was  a  slated  house  at  a  cross-roads  ; 
there,  at  all  events,  I  could  get  my  bearings. 
There  were  porter-barrels  outside  it,  and  from 
some  distance  I  heard  two  voices,  male  and  female, 
engaged  in  loud  and  ferocious  argument ;  I  had 
no  difficulty  in  diagnosing  a  public-house.  When 
Daniel  and  I  darkened  the  doorway  the  shouting 
ceased  abruptly,  and  I  saw  a  farmer,  in  his  Sunday 
clothes,  making  an  unsteady  retreat  through  a 
door  at  the  back  of  the  shop.  The  other  disput- 
ant, a  large,  middle-aged  woman,  remained  en- 
trenched behind  the  counter,  and  regarded  me 
with  a  tranquil  and  commanding  eye.  She  in- 
formed me,  as  from  a  pulpit,  that  I  was  six  miles 
from  Castle  Knox,  and  with  dignity,  as  though 

276 


T^he  Comte  de  Pralines 

leaving  a  pulpit,  she  moved  from  behind  the 
counter,  and  advanced  to  the  door  to  indicate  my 
road.  I  asked  her  if  she  had  seen  anything  of 
the  hounds. 

"  There  was  one  of  your  dogs  looked  in  the 
door  to  me  a  while  ago/'  she  replied,  **  but  he  got 
a  couple  of  boxes  from  the  cat  that  have  kittens ; 
I  d'no  what  way  he  went.  Indeed  I  was  bothered 
at  the  time  with  that  poor  man  that  came  in 
to  thank  me  for  the  compliment  I  paid  him  in 
going  to  his  sister's  funeral." 

I  said  that  he  certainly  seemed  to  feel  it  very 
much.  At  which  she  looked  hard  at  me  and  said 
that  he  was  on  his  way  to  a  wedding,  and  that  it 
might  be  he  had  a  drop  taken  to  rise  his  heart. 
*'  He  was  after  getting  a  half  a  crown  from  a 
gentleman — a  huntsman  like  yourself,"  she  added, 
"that  was  striving  to  get  his  horse  out  of  a 
ditch." 

**  Was  there  a  lady  with  him  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  There  was,  faith !  And  the  two  o'  them 
legged  it  away  then  through  the  country,  and 
they  galloping  like  the  deer !  " 

So,  in  all  love,  we  parted  ;  before  I  reached  the 
next  turning  renewed  sounds  of  battle  told  me 
that  the  compliment  was  still  being  pressed  home. 

My  road,  bending  ever  to  the  right,  strolled 
through  an  untidy  nondescript  country,  with  little 

a// 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

bits  of  bog,  and  little  lumps  of  hill,  and  little  rags 
of  fields.  I  had  jogged  a  mile  or  so  when  I  saw 
a  hound,  a  few  fields  away  to  my  right,  poking 
along  on  what  appeared  to  be  a  line  ;  he  flopped 
into  a  boggy  ditch,  and  scrambled  from  it  on  to 
a  fence.  He  stood  there  undecidedly,  like  any 
human  being,  reviewing  the  situation,  and  then  I 
saw  his  head  and  stern  go  up.  The  next  moment 
I  also  heard  what  he  had  heard,  a  faint  and  far- 
away note  of  the  horn.  It  came  again,  a  long 
and  questing  call. 

The  road  was  flat  and  fairly  straight ;  far  away 
upon  it  something  was  moving  gradually  into  my 
scope  of  vision,  something  with  specks  of  red  in 
it.  It  advanced  upon  me,  firmly,  and  at  a  smart 
pace ;  heading  it,  like  the  ram  of  a  battleship, 
was  Mr.  Knox.  With  him,  "  of  all  his  halls  had 
nursed,"  remained  only  the  two  hounds  with  the 
hairless  backs,  the  two  who,  according  to  Miss 
McRory,  were  always  scratching.  Behind  him 
was  a  small  and  unsmiling  selection  from  those 
who,  like  him,  had  lost  the  hunt.  Lady  Knox 
headed  them ;  my  wife  and  Bill  brought  up  the 
rear.  The  hound  whom  I  had  seen  in  the  bog 
had  preceded  me,  and  was  now  joining  himself  to 
his  two  comrades,  putting  the  best  face  he  could 
upon  it,  with  a  frowning  brow  and  his  hackles  up. 
The  comrades,  in  their  official  position  of   sole 

278 


The  Comte  de  Pralines 

representatives  of  the  pack,  received  him  with 
orthodox  sternness,  and  though  unable,  for  obvious 
reasons,  to  put  their  hackles  up,  the  bald  places 
on  their  backs  were  of  an  intimidating  pink. 

My  own  reception  followed  the  same  lines. 

**  Where  are  the  hounds  ?  "  barked  Flurry,  in  the 
awful  tones  of  a  parent  addressing  a  governess 
who,  through  gross  neglect,  has  mislaid  her 
charges. 

Before  I  had  had  time  to  make  up  my  mind 
whether  to  be  truculent  or  pacific,  there  was  a 
shout  away  on  our  left.  At  some  little  distance 
up  a  by-road,  a  man  was  standing  on  a  furze- 
plumed  bank,  beckoning  to  us  with  a  driving- 
whip.  Flurry  stood  in  his  stirrups,  and  held  up 
his  cap.  The  man  yelled  information  that  was 
wholly  unintelligible,  but  the  driving-whip  indi- 
cated a  point  beyond  him,  and  Flurry's  brown 
mare  jumped  from  a  standstill  to  a  gallop,  and 
swung  into  the  by-road. 

The  little  band  of  followers  swung  after  him. 
When  Lady  Knox  was  well  ahead,  I  followed, 
and  found  myself  battering  between  high  banks 
behind  Philippa  and  Bill  Cunningham. 

"  Where's  Mossoo  ?  "  my  wife  said  breathlessly, 
as  Daniel's  head  drew  level  with  her  sandwich 
case.     "  We  met  the  man  who  pulled  him  out  of 

the  ditch — up  in  the  hills  there '* 

279 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

**  Yes,  by  Jove!  "  said  Bill,  **  Flurry  asked  him 
if  it  was  a  Frenchman,  and  the  chap  said,  *  French 
or  German,  he  had  curses  as  good  as  yourself!' 
I  told  Flurry  it  must  have  been  you !  " 

"  I  don't    mind  Flurry,  it's  Lady   Knox " 

began  Philippa. 

Here  we  all  came  to  a  violent  full-stop. 
Flurry's  advance  had  been  arrested  by  a  covered- 
car  and  horse  drawn  across  the  road ;  the  horse 
was  eating  grass,  the  driver,  with  the  reins  in  his 
hand,  was  standing  with  his  back  to  us  on  the 
top  of  the  bank  from  which  he  had  hailed  us, 
howling  plaudits,  as  if  he  were  watching  a  race. 
There  were  distant  shouts,  and  barking  dogs,  and 
bellowing  cattle,  and  blended  with  them  was  the 
unmistakable  baying  of  hounds. 

I  daresay  that  what  Flurry  said  to  the  driver 
did  him  good — did  Flurry  good,  I  mean.  The 
car  lurched  to  one  side,  and,  as  we  squeezed  past 
it,  we  saw  between  its  black  curtains  a  vision  of 
a  scarlet-faced  bride,  embedded  in  female  relatives  ; 
two  outside  cars,  driverless,  and  loaded  with  wed- 
ding guests,  were  drawn  up  a  little  farther  on. 
Flurry,  still  exploding  like  a  shell,  thundered  on 
down  the  lane ;  the  high  bank  ended  at  a  gate- 
way, he  turned  in,  and  as  we  crushed  in  after  him 
we  were  greeted  by  a  long  and  piercing  **  Who- 
whoop ! " 

280 


The  Comte  de  Pralines 

We  were  in  a  straggling  field  with  furzy  patches 
in  it.  At  the  farther  end  of  it  was  a  crowd  of 
country  people  on  horses  and  on  foot,  obviously 
more  wedding-guests ;  back  of  all,  on  a  road 
below,  was  a  white-washed  chapel,  and  near  it, 
still  on  the  chestnut  horse,  was  the  priest  who 
had  headed  the  morning  fox.  Close  to  one  of 
the  clumps  of  furze  the  Comte  de  Pralines  was 
standing,  knee-deep  in  baying  hounds,  holding 
the  body  of  the  fox  high  above  his  head,  and 
uttering  scream  upon  scream  of  the  most  orthodox 
quality.  He  flung  the  fox  to  the  hounds,  the 
onlookers  cheered,  Miss  McRory,  seated  on  the 
car-horse,  waved  the  brush  above  her  head,  and 
squealed  at  the  top  of  her  voice  something  that 
sounded  like  **  Yoicks !  "  Her  hair  was  floating 
freely  down  her  back  ;  a  young  countryman,  in 
such  sacrificial  attire  as  suggested  the  bridegroom, 
was  running  across  the  field  with  her  hat  in  his 
hand. 

Flurry  pulled  up  in  silence ;  so  did  we.  We 
were  all  quite  outside  the  picture,  and  we  knew  it. 

**  Oh,  the  finest  hunt  ever  you  seel"  cried  the 
bridegroom  as  he  passed  us;  "it  was  Father  Dwyer 
seen  him  shnaking  into  the  furze,  the  villyan ! " 

**  Worry,  worry,  worry !  Tear  him  and  eat 
him,  old  fellows !  "  shouted  the  Comte  de  Pralines. 
**  Give  the  hounds  room,  can't  you,  you  chaps !     I 

281 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

suppose  you  never  saw  them  break  up  a  fox 
before  ! "  This  to  the  wedding  guests,  who  had 
crowded  in,  horse  and  foot,  on  top  of  the  scuffling, 
growHng  pack. 

Flurry  turned  an  iron  face  upon  me.  His  eye 
was  no  bigger  than  a  pin's  head. 

**  I  suppose  it's  from  Larkie  McRory  he  got 
the  English  ?  "  he  said  ;  **  he  learnt  it  quick." 

"The  McRorys  don't  speak  English!"  said 
Lady  Knox,  in  a  voice  like  a  north-east  wind. 

'' Seulement  tres  petit!''  Philippa  murmured 
brazenly. 

Whether  Lady  Knox  heard  her  or  not,  I  am 
unable  to  say.  Her  face  was  averted  from  me, 
and  remained  as  inflexible  as  a  profile  on  a  coin 
— a  Roman  coin,  for  choice. 

The  faculty  of  not  knowing  when  you  are 
beaten  is  one  that  has,  I  think,  been  lauded  beyond 
its  deserving.  Napoleon  the  Great  has  con- 
demned manoeuvring  before  a  fixed  position,  and 
Lady  Knox  was  clearly  a  fixed  position.  Accept- 
ing these  tenets,  I  began  an  unostentatious  retire- 
ment, in  which  I  was  joined  by  Philippa.  We 
were  nearing  safety  and  the  gate  of  the  field, 
when  a  yearning,  choking  wail  came  to  us  from 
the  lane. 

"  The  Bride  }  "  queried  my  wife  hysterically. 

It  was  repeated ;  in  the  same  instant  my 
282 


T^he  Comte  de  Pralines 

admirers,  the  jackasses,  mere  et  fils,  advanced 
upon  the  scene  at  a  delirious  gallop,  and,  sobbing 
with  the  ecstasy  of  reunion,  resumed  their  attend- 
ance upon  Daniel. 

For  a  moment  the  attention  of  the  field,  in- 
cluding even  that  of  the  Roman  coin,  was  diverted 
from  the  Comte  de  Pralines,  and  was  concentrated 
upon  our  retreat. 


283 


XI 

THE    SHOOTING    OF    SHINROE 

Mr.  Joseph  Francis  M*Cabe  rose  stiffly  from 
his  basket  chair,  picked  up  the  cushion  on  which 
he  had  been  seated,  looked  at  it  with  animosity,  hit 
it  hard  with  his  fist,  and,  flinging  it  into  the  chair, 
replaced  himself  upon  it,  with  the  single  word : 

"Flog!" 

I  was  aware  that  he  referred  to  the  flock  with 
which  the  cushions  in  the  lounge  of  Reardon's 
Hotel  were  stuffed. 

"  They  have  this  hotel  destroyed  altogether 
with  their  improvements,"  went  on  Mr.  M'Cabe 
between  puffs,  as  he  lit  his  pipe.  *'  God  be  with 
the  time  this  was  the  old  smoking-room,  before 
they  knocked  it  and  the  hall  into  one  and  spoilt 
the  two  of  them !  There  were  fine  solid  chairs 
in  it  that  time,  that  you'd  sleep  in  as  good  as 
your  bed,  but  as  for  these  wicker  affairs,  I  declare 
the  wind  'd  whistle  through  them  the  same  as  a 
crow's  nest."  He  paused,  and  brought  his  heel 
down  heavily  on  the  top  of  the  fire.  **  And  look 
at  that  for  a  grate  !  A  Well-grate  they  call  it, — 
/'^say,  *  Leave  Well  alone!'     Thirty  years  I'm 

284 


The  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

coming  to  Sessions  here,  and  putting  up  in  this 
house,  and  in  place  of  old  Tim  telling  me  me  own 
room  was  ready  for  me,  there's  a  whipper-snapper 
of  a  snapdragon  in  a  glass  box  in  the  hall,  asking 
me  me  name  in  broken  English  "  (it  may  be  men- 
tioned that  this  happened  before  the  War),  **  and 

*  Had  I  a  Cook's  ticket  ? '  and  down-facing  me 
that  I  must  leave  my  key  in  what  he  called  the 

*  Bew-ro.' " 

I  said  I  knew  of  a  lady  who  always  took  a 
Cook's  ticket  when  she  went  abroad,  because 
when  she  got  to  Paris  there  would  be  an  English- 
man on  the  platform  to  meet  her,  or  at  all  events 
a  broken  Englishman. 

Mr.  M'Cabe  softened  to  a  temporary  smile, 
but  held  on  to  his  grievance  with  the  tenacity  of 
his  profession.  (I  don't  think  I  have  mentioned 
that  he  is  a  Solicitor,  of  a  type  now,  unfortunately, 
becoming  obsolete.)  He  had  a  long  grey  face, 
and  a  short  grey  moustache  ;  he  dyed  his  hair, 
and  his  age  was  known  to  no  man. 

**  There  was  one  of  Cook's  tourists  sat  next 
me  at  breakfast,"  he  resumed,  *'and  he  asked  me 
was  I  ever  in  Ireland  before,  and  how  long  was  I 
in  it.     *  Wan  day,'  says  I !  " 

*'  Did  he  believe  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

''  He  did,"  replied  Mr.  M'Cabe,  with  something 
that  approached  compassion. 

285 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

I  have  always  found  old  M'Cabe  a  mitigating 
circumstance  of  Sessions  at  Owenford,  both  in 
Court  and  out  of  it.  He  was  a  sportsman  of  the 
ingrained  variety  that  grows  wild  in  Ireland,  and 
in  any  of  the  horse-coping  cases  that  occasionally 
refresh  the  innermost  soul  of  Munster,  it  would  be 
safe  to  assume  that  Mr.  M'Cabe's  special  gifts  had 
ensured  his  being  retained,  generally  on  the  shady 
side.  He  fished  when  occasion  served,  he  shot 
whether  it  did  or  not.  He  did  not  exactly  keep 
horses,  but  he  always  knew  some  one  who  was 
prepared  to  **  pass  on "  a  thoroughly  useful 
animal,  with  some  infirmity  so  insignificant  that 
until  you  tried  to  dispose  of  him  you  did  not 
realise  that  he  was  yours,  until  his  final  passing- 
on  to  the  next  world.  He  had  certain  shooting 
privileges  in  the  mountains  behind  the  town  of 
Owenford  (bestowed,  so  he  said,  by  a  grateful 
client),  and  it  had  often  been  suggested  by  him 
that  he  and  I  should  anticipate  some  November 
Sessions  by  a  day,  and  spend  it  "  on  the  hill."  We 
were  now  in  the  act  of  carrying  out  the  project. 

"Ah,  these  English,"  M'Cabe  began  again, 
mixing  himself  a  glass  of  whisky  and  water, 
"  they'd  believe  anything  so  long  as  it  wasn't  the 
truth.  Talking  politics  these  lads  were,  and  by 
the  time  they  had  their  ham  and  eggs  swallowed 
they   had   the   whole   country   arranged.     *  And 

286 


The  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

look,'  says  they — they  were  anglers,  God  help 
us ! — *  look  at  all  the  money  that's  going  to 
waste  for  want  of  preserving  the  rivers ! '  *  I 
beg  your  pardon,'  says  I,  *  there's  water-bailiffs 
on  the  most  of  the  rivers.  I  was  defending  a 
man  not  long  since,  that  was  cot  by  the  water- 
bailiff  poaching  salmon  on  the  Owen.  *  And 
what  proof  have  you  } '  says  I  to  the  water-bailiff 
'How  do  you  know  it  was  a  salmon  at  all  ? '  *  Is 
it  how  would  I  know  ? '  says  the  bailiff,  *  didn't  I 
gaff  the  fish  for  him  meself ! ' " 

'*  What  did  your  anglers  say  to  that  ? "  I 
enquired. 

**  Well,  they  didn't  quite  go  so  far  as  to  tell  me 
I  was  a  liar,"  said  Mr.  M*Cabe  tranquilly.  "Ah, 
telling  such  as  them  the  truth  is  wasting  what 
isn't  plenty  !  Then  they'll  meet  some  fellow  that 
lies  like  a  tooth-drawer,  and  they'll  write  to  the 
English  Times  on  the  head  of  him ! "  He 
stretched  forth  a  long  and  bony  hand  for  the 
tumbler  of  whisky  and  water.  **  And  talking  of 
tooth-drawers,"  he  went  on,  **  there's  a  dentist 
comes  here  once  a  fortnight,  Jeffers  his  name  is, 
and  a  great  sportsman  too.  I  was  with  him  to- 
day"— he  passed  his  hand  consciously  over  his 
mouth,  and  the  difference  that  I  had  dimly  felt 
in  his  appearance  suddenly,  and  in  all  senses  of 
the  word,  flashed  upon  me — **and  he  was  telling 

287 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

me  how  one  time,  in  the  summer  that's  past,  he'd 
been  out  all  night,  fishing  in  the  Owen.  He  was 
going  home  before  the  dawn,  and  he  jumped 
down  off  a  bank  on  to  what  he  took  to  be  a  white 
stone — and  he  aimed  for  the  stone,  mind  you, 
because  he  thought  the  ground  was  wet — and 
what  was  it  but  a  man's  face !  "  M*Cabe  paused 
to  receive  my  comment.  **What  did  he  do,  is 
it  ?  Ran  off  for  his  life,  roaring  out,  *  There's  a 
first-rate  dentist  in  Owenford  ! '  The  fellow  was 
lying  asleep  there,  and  he  having  bundles  of 
spurge  with  him  to  poison  the  river!  He  had 
taken  drink,  I  suppose." 

"  Was  he  a  water-bailiff  too  ?  "  said  I.  "I  hope 
the  conservators  of  the  river  stood  him  a  set  of 
teeth." 

**  If  they  did,'*  said  M'Cabe,  with  an  unexpected 
burst  of  feeling,  *'  I  pity  him  !  "  He  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  put  his  tumbler  down  on  the  chimney- 
piece.  "  Well,  we  should  get  away  early  in  the 
morning,  and  it's  no  harm  for  me  to  go  to  bed." 

He  yawned — a  large  yawn  that  ended  abruptly 
with  a  metallic  click.  His  eyes  met  mine,  full  of 
unspoken  things  ;  we  parted  in  a  silence  that 
seemed  to  have  been  artificially  imposed  upon 
Mr.  M'Cabe. 

The  wind  boomed  intermittently  in  my  chimney 
during  the  night,  and  a  far  and  heavy  growling 

288 


T^he  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

told  of  the  dissatisfaction  of  the  sea.  Yet  the 
morning  was  not  unfavourable.  There  was  a 
broken  mist,  with  shimmers  of  sun  in  it,  and  the 
carman  said  it  would  be  a  thing  of  nothing,  and 
would  go  out  with  the  tide.  The  Boots,  a  relic 
of  the  old  rdgime^  was  pessimistic,  and  mentioned 
that  there  were  two  stars  squez  up  agin  the  moon 
last  night,  and  he  would  have  no  dependence  on 
the  day.  M'Cabe  offered  no  opinion,  being  occu- 
pied in  bestowing  in  a  species  of  dog-box  beneath 
the  well  of  the  car  a  young  red  setter,  kindly  lent 
by  his  friend  the  dentist.  The  setter,  who  had 
formed  at  sight  an  unfavourable  opinion  of  the 
dog-box,  had  resolved  himself  into  an  inverte- 
brate mass  of  jelly  and  lead,  and  was  with 
difficulty  straightened  out  and  rammed  home 
into  it. 

**  Have  we  all  now?"  said  M'Cabe,  slamming 
the  door  in  the  dog's  face.  "  Take  care  we're  not 
like  me  uncle,  old  Tom  Duffy,  that  was  going 
shooting,  and  was  the  whole  morning  slapping  his 
pockets  and  saying,  *  Me  powder !  me  shot !  me 
caps !  me  wads ! '  and  when  he  got  to  the  bog, 
*  O  tare  an'  ouns ! '  says  he,  *  I  forgot  the  gun  ! '  " 

There  are  still  moments  when  I  can  find  some 
special  and  not-otherwise-to-be-attained  flavour 
in  driving  on  an  outside  car ;  a  sense  of  personal 
achievement  in  sitting,  by  some  method  of  in- 

289  T 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

stinctive  suction,  the  lurches  and  swoops  peculiar 
to  these  vehicles.  Reardon's  had  given  us  its 
roomiest  car  and  its  best  horse,  a  yellow  mare, 
with  a  long  back  and  a  slinging  trot,  and  a  mouth 
of  iron. 

"Where  did  Mr.  Reardon  get  the  mare, 
Jerry?"  asked  M'Cabe,  as  we  zigzagged  in 
successive  hairbreadths  through  the  streets  of 
Owen  ford. 

"  D-Dublin,  sir,"  replied  the  driver,  who,  with 
both  fists  extended  in  front  of  him  and  both  heels 
planted  against  his  narrow  footboard,  seemed  to 
find  utterance  difficult. 

''  She's  a  goer ! "  said  M^Cabe. 

"  She  is — she  killed  two  men,"  said  Jerry,  in 
two  jerks. 

**  That's  a  great  credit  to  her.  What  way  did 
she  do  it  ?  " 

**  P-pulled  the  lungs  out  o*  them ! "  ejaculated 
Jerry,  turning  the  last  corner  and  giving  the  mare 
a  shade  more  of  her  head,  as  a  tribute,  perhaps, 
to  her  prowess. 

She  swung  us  for  some  six  miles  along  the  ruts 
of  the  coast  road  at  the  same  unflinching  pace, 
after  which,  turning  inland  and  uphill,  we  began 
the  climb  of  four  miles  into  the  mountains.  It 
was  about  eleven  o'clock  when  we  pulled  up 
beside  a  long  and  reedy  pool,  high  up  in  the 

290 


T!he  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

heather ;  the  road  went  on,  illimitably  it  seemed, 
and  was  lost,  with  its  attendant  telegraph  posts, 
in  cloud. 

**  Away  with  ye  now,  Jerry,"  said  M*Cabe ; 
"  we'll  shoot  our  way  home." 

He  opened  the  back  of  the  dog-box,  and  sum- 
moned its  occupant.  The  summons  was  dis- 
regarded. Far  back  in  the  box  two  sparks  of 
light  and  a  dead  silence  indicated  the  presence 
of  the  dog. 

"  How,  snug  you  are  in  there ! "  said  M^Cabe  ; 
"here,  Jerry,  pull  him  out  for  us.  What  the 
deuce  is  this  his  name  is  ?  Jeffers  told  me  yester- 
day, and  it's  gone  from  me." 

"  I  d'no  would  he  bite  me  ?  "  said  Jerry,  taking 
a  cautious  observation  and  giving  voice  to  the 
feelings  of  the  party.  "  Here,  poor  fellow  !  Here, 
good  lad ! " 

The  good  lad  remained  immovable.  The  lure 
of  a  sandwich  produced  no  better  result. 

"  We  can't  be  losing  our  day  with  the  brute 
this  way,"  said  MCabe.  "  Tip  up  the  car.  He'll 
come  out  then,  and  no  thanks  to  him." 

As  the  shafts  rose  heavenwards,  the  law  of 
gravitation  proved  too  many  for  the  setter,  and 
he  slowly  slid  to  earth. 

"  If  I  only  knew  your  dam  name  we'd  be  all 
right  now,"  said  M'Cabe. 

291 


In  Mr,  Knoxs  Country 

The  carman  dropped  the  shafts  on  to  the  mare, 
and  drove  on  up  the  pass,  with  one  side  of  the 
car  turned  up  and  himself  on  the  other.  The 
yellow  mare  had,  it  seemed,  only  begun  her  day's 
work.  A  prophetic  instinct,  of  the  reliable  kind 
that  is  strictly  founded  on  fact,  warned  me  that  we 
might  live  to  regret  her  departure. 

The  dentist's  setter  had,  at  sight  of  the  guns, 
realised  that  things  were  better  than  he  had  ex- 
pected, and  now  preceded  us  along  the  edge  of 
the  lake  with  every  appearance  of  enthusiasm. 
He  quartered  the  ground  with  professional  zeal, 
he  splashed  through  the  sedge,  and  rattled 
through  thickets  of  dry  reeds,  and  set  succes- 
sively a  heron,  a  water-hen,  and  something,  un- 
seen, that  I  believe  to  have  been  a  water-rat. 
After  each  of  these  efforts  he  rushed  in  upon  his 
quarry,  and  we  called  him  by  all  the  gun-dog 
names  we  had  ever  heard  of,  from  Don  to 
Grouse,  from  Carlo  to  Shot,  coupled  with  ob- 
jurgations on  a  rising  scale.  With  none  of  them 
did  we  so  much  as  vibrate  a  chord  in  his  bosom. 
He  was  a  large  dog,  with  a  blunt  stupid  face, 
and  a  faculty  for  excitement  about  nothing  that 
impelled  him  to  bound  back  to  us  as  often  as 
possible,  to  gaze  in  our  eyes  in  brilliant  enquiry, 
and  to  pant  and  prance  before  us  with  all  the 
fatuity  of  youth.     Had  he  been  able   to  speak, 

292 


The  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

he  would  have  asked  idiotic  questions,  of  that 
special  breed  that  exact  from  their  victim  a 
reply  of  equal  imbecility. 

The  lake  and  its  environs,  for  the  first  time 
in  M'Cabe's  experience,  yielded  nothing ;  we 
struck  up  on  to  the  mountain  side,  follow- 
ing the  course  of  an  angry  stream  that  came 
racing  down  from  the  heights.  We  worked  up 
through  ling  and  furze,  and  skirted  flocks  of  pale 
stones  that  lay  in  the  heather  like  petrified  sheep, 
and  the  dog,  ranging  deliriously,  set  water-wag- 
tails and  anything  else  that  could  fly ;  I  believe 
he  would  have  set  a  blue-bottle,  and  I  said  so  to 
M'Cabe. 

"  Ah,  give  him  time ;  he'll  settle  down,"  said 
M'Cabe,  who  had  a  thankfulness  for  small 
mercies  born  of  a  vast  experience  of  makeshifts ; 
**he  might  fill  the  bag  for  us  yet." 

We  laboured  along  the  flank  of  the  mountain, 
climbing  in  and  out  of  small  ravines,  jumping  or 
wading  streams,  sloshing  through  yellow  sedgery 
bog ;  always  with  the  brown  heather  running  up 
to  the  misty  skyline,  and  always  with  the  same 
atrocious  luck.  Once  a  small  pack  of  grouse  got 
up,  very  wild,  and  leagues  out  of  range,  thanks 
to  the  far-reaching  activities  of  the  dog,  and 
once  a  hermit  woodcock  exploded  out  of  a  clump 
of  furze,  and  sailed  away  down  the  slope,  followed 

293 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

by  four  charges  of  shot  and  the  red  setter,  in 
equally  innocuous  pursuit.  And  this,  up  to 
luncheon  time,  was  the  sum  of  the  morning's 
sport. 

We  ate  our  sandwiches  on  a  high  ridge,  under 
the  lee  of  a  tumbled  pile  of  boulders,  that  looked 
as  if  they  had  been  about  to  hurl  themselves  into 
the  valley,  and  had  thought  better  of  it  at  the 
last  moment.  Between  the  looming,  elephant- 
grey  mountains  the  mist  yielded  glimpses  of  the 
far  greenness  of  the  sea,  the  only  green  thing 
in  sight  in  this  world  of  grey  and  brown.  The 
dog  sat  opposite  to  me,  and  willed  me  to  share 
my  food  with  him.  His  steady  eyes  were 
charged  with  the  implication  that  I  was  a  glut- 
ton ;  personally  I  abhorred  him,  yet  I  found  it 
impossible  to  give  him  less  than  twenty-five 
per  cent,  of  my  sandwiches. 

"  I  wonder  did  Jeffers  take  him  for  a  bad 
debt,"  said  M*Cabe  reflectively,  as  he  lit  his  pipe. 

I  said  I  should  rather  take  my  chance  with 
the  bad  debt. 

"  He  might  have  treated  me  better,"  M*Cabe 
grumbled  on,  **  seeing  that  I  paid  him  seven 
pound  ten  the  day  before  yesterday,  let  alone 
that  it  was  me  that  was  the  first  to  put  him  up 
to  this — this  bit  of  Shinroe  Mountain  that  never 
was    what    you    might    call    strictly    preserved. 

294 


T!he  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

When  he  came  here  first  he  didn't  as  much  as 
know  what  cartridges  he'd  want  for  it.  *  Six  and 
eight,'  says  I,  *  that's  a  lawyer's  fee,  so  if  you 
think  of  me  you'll  not  forget  it !  *  And  now,  if 
ye  please,"  went  on  Mr.  Jeffers'  preceptor  in 
sport,  '*  he's  shooting  the  whole  country  and 
selling  all  he  gets !  And  he  wouldn't  as  much  as 
ask  me  to  go  with  him ;  and  the  excuse  he  gives, 
he  wouldn't  like  to  have  an  old  hand  like  me 
connyshooring  his  shots !     How  modest  he  is !  * 

I  taunted  M'Cabe  with  having  been  weak 
enough  thus  to  cede  his  rights,  and  M'Cabe,  who 
was  not  at  all  amused,  said  that  after  all  it  wasn't 
so  much  Jeffers  that  did  the  harm,  but  an  infernal 
English  Syndicate  that  had  taken  the  Shinroe 
shooting  this  season,  and  paid  old  Purcell  that 
owned  it  ten  times  what  it  was  worth. 

"  It  might  be  as  good  for  us  to  get  off  their 
ground  now,"  continued  M'Cabe,  rising  slowly 
to  his  feet,  **  and  try  the  Lackagreina  Valley.  The 
stream  below  is  their  bounds." 

This,  I  hasten  to  say,  was  the  first  I  had 
heard  of  the  Syndicate,  and  I  thought  it  tactless 
of  M'Cabe  to  have  mentioned  it,  even  though 
the  wrong  that  we  had  done  them  was  purely 
technical.  I  said  to  him  that  I  thought  the  sooner 
we  got  off  their  ground  the  better,  and  we  de- 
scended  the   hill   and   crossed  the   stream,    and 

29s 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

M'Cabe  said  that  he  could  always  shoot  this 
next  stretch  of  country  when  he  liked.  With 
this  assurance,  we  turned  our  backs  on  the  sea 
and  struck  inland,  tramping  for  an  hour  or  more 
through  country  whose  entire  barrenness  could 
only  be  explained  on  the  hypothesis  that  it  has 
been  turned  inside  out  to  dry.  So  far  it  had 
failed  to  achieve  even  this  result. 

The  weather  got  thicker,  and  the  sport,  if 
possible,  thinner ;  I  had  long  since  lost  what 
bearings  I  possessed,  but  M'Cabe  said  he  knew 
of  a  nice  patch  of  scrub  in  the  next  valley  that 
always  held  a  cock.  The  next  valley  came  at 
last,  not  without  considerable  effort,  but  no  patch 
of  scrub  was  apparent.  Some  small  black  and 
grey  cattle  stood  and  looked  at  us,  and  a  young 
bull  showed  an  inclination  to  stalk  the  dog;  it 
seemed  the  only  sport  the  valley  was  likely  to 
afford.  M*Cabe  looked  round  him,  and  looked 
at  his  watch,  and  looked  at  the  sky,  which  did 
not  seem  to  be  more  than  a  yard  above  our 
heads,  and  said  without  emotion : 

"Did  ye  think  of  telling  the  lad  in  the  glass 
box  in  the  hall  that  we  might  want  some  dinner 
kept  hot  for  us  ?  I  d*no  from  Adam  where  we've 
got  to ! " 

There  was  a  cattle  track  along  the  side  of  the 
valley  which  might,  though  not  necessarily,  lead 

296 


T!he  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

somewhere.  We  pursued  it,  and  found  that  it 
led,  in  the  first  instance,  to  some  blackfaced 
mountain  sheep.  A  cheerful  interlude  followed, 
in  which  the  red  setter  hunted  the  sheep,  and  we 
hunted  the  setter,  and  what  M'Cabe  said  about 
the  dentist  in  the  intervals  of  the  chase  was 
more  appropriate  to  the  occasion  than  to  these 
pages. 

When  justice  had  been  satiated,  and  the  last 
echo  of  the  last  yell  of  the  dog  had  trembled  into 
silence  among  the  hills,  we  resumed  the  cattle- 
track,  which  had  become  a  shade  more  reliable, 
and,  as  we  proceeded,  began  to  give  an  im- 
pression that  it  might  lead  somewhere.  The  day 
was  dying  in  threatening  stillness.  Lethargic 
layers  of  mist  bulged  low,  like  the  roof  of  a 
marquee,  and  cloaked  every  outline  that  could 
yield  us  information.  The  dog,  unchastened 
by  recent  events,  and  full  of  an  idiot  optimism, 
continued  to  range  the  hillside, 
i  **  I   suppose   I'll  never  get  the  chance  to  tell 

f  Jeffers  my  opinion  of  that  tom-fool,"  said  M'Cabe, 
following  with  an  eye  of  steel  the  perambula- 
tions of  the  dog;  "the  best  barrister  that  ever 
wore  a  wig  couldn't  argue  with  a  dentist!  He 
has  his  fist  half  way  down  your  throat  before  you 
can  open  your  mouth ;  and  in  any  case  he*ll  tell 
me  we  couldn't  expect  any  dog  would  work  for 

297 


In  Mr.   Knox  5  Country 

us  when  we  forgot  his  name.  What's  the  brute 
at  now  ?  " 

The  brute  was  high  above  us  on  the  hillside, 
setting  a  solitary  furze  bush  with  convincing  de- 
termination, and  casting  backward  looks  to  see 
if  he  were  being  supported. 

"  It  might  be  a  hare,"  said  M'Cabe,  cocking 
his  gun,  with  a  revival  of  hope  that  was  almost 
pathetic,  and  ascending  towards  the  furze  bush. 

I  neither  quickened  my  pace  nor  deviated  from 
the  cattle  track,  but  I  may  admit  that  I  did  so 
far  yield  to  the  theory  of  the  hare  as  to  slip  a 
cartridge  into  my  gun. 

M'Cabe  put  his  gun  to  his  shoulder,  lowered 
it  abruptly,  and  walked  up  to  the  furze  bush.  He 
stooped  and  picked  up  something. 

"He's  not  such  a  fool  after  all !  "  he  called  out ; 
"  ye  said  he'd  set  a  blue-bottle,  and  b'  Jove  ye 
weren't  far  out !  " 

He  held  up  a  black  object  that  was  neither  bird 
nor  beast. 

I  took  the  cartridge  out  of  my  gun  as  unob- 
trusively as  possible,  and  M'Cabe  and  the  dog 
rejoined  me  with  the  product  of  the  day's  sport. 
It  was  a  flat-sided  bottle,  high  shouldered,  with  a 
short  neck  ;  M'Cabe  extracted  the  cork  and  took 
a  sniff. 

**  Mountain  dew  no  less!"  (Mr.  M'Cabe  ad- 
298 


T^he  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

hered  faithfully  to  the  stock  phrases  of  his  youth.) 
**  This  never  paid  the  King  a  shilling !  Give  me 
the  cup  off  your  flask,  Major,  till  we  see  what 
sort  it  is." 

It  was  pretty  rank,  and  even  that  seasoned 
vessel,  old  M'Cabe,  admitted  that  it  might  be 
drinkable  in  another  couple  of  years,  but  hardly 
in  less ;  yet  as  it  ran,  a  rivulet  of  fire,  through 
my  system,  it  seemed  to  me  that  even  the  water 
in  my  boots  became  less  chill. 

**  In  the  public  interest  we're  bound  to  remove 
it,"  said  M'Cabe,  putting  the  bottle  into  his  game 
bag  ;  **  any  man  that  drank  enough  of  that  'd  rob 
a  church !  Well,  anyway,  we're  not  the  only 
people  travelling  this  path,"  he  continued;  **  who- 
ever put  his  afternoon  tea  to  hide  there  will 
choose  a  less  fashionable  promenade  next  time. 
But  indeed  the  poor  man  couldn't  be  blamed  for 
not  knowing  such  a  universal  genius  of  a  dog 
was  coming  this  way !  Didn't  I  tell  you  he'd  fill 
the  bag  for  us  ! " 

He  extracted  from  his  pockets  a  pair  of  knitted 
gloves,  and  put  them  on ;  it  was  equivalent  to 
putting  up  the  shutters. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  that  we  regained  touch 
with  civilisation.  Above  the  profile  of  a  hill  a 
telegraph  post  suddenly  showed  itself  against  the 
grey  of  the  misty  twilight.     We  made  as  bee-like 

299 


In  Mr.   Knox's  Country 

a  line  for  it  as  the  nature  of  the  ground  permitted, 
and  found  ourselves  on  a  narrow  road,  at  a  point 
where  it  was  in  the  act  of  making  a  hairpin  turn 
before  plunging  into  a  valley. 

**  The  Beacon  Bay  road,  begad  !  "  said  M'Cabe  ; 
"  I  didn't  think  we  were  so  far  out  of  our  way. 
Let  me  see  now,  which  way  is  this  we'd  best  go." 

He  stood  still  and  looked  round  him,  taking 
his  bearings ;  in  the  solitude  the  telegraph  posts 
hummed  to  each  other,  full  of  information  and 
entirely  reticent. 

The  position  was  worse  than  I  thought.  By 
descending  into  the  valley  we  should,  a  couple  or 
three  miles  farther  on,  strike  the  coast  road  about 
six  miles  from  home ;  by  ascending  the  hill  and 
walking  four  miles,  we  should  arrive  at  the  station 
of  Coppeen  Road,  and,  with  luck,  there  intercept 
the  evening  train  for  Owenford. 

**  And  that's  the  best  of  our  play,  but  we'll  have 
to  step  out,"  concluded  M'Cabe,  shortening  the 
strap  of  his  game-bag,  and  settling  it  on  his  back. 

**  If  I  were  you,"  I  said,  ''I'd  chuck  that  stuff 
away.  Apart  from  anything  else,  it's  about  half 
a  ton  extra  to  carry.'* 

"  There's  many  a  thing,  Major,  that  you  might 
do  that  I  might  not  do,"  returned  M'Cabe  with 
solemnity,  '*  and  in  the  contrairy  sense  the  state- 
ment is  equally  valid." 

300 


'The  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

He  faced  the  hill  with  humped  shoulders,  and 
fell  with  no  more  words  into  his  poacher's  stride, 
and  I  followed  him  with  the  best  imitation  of  it 
that  I  could  put  up  after  at  least  six  hours  of 
heavy  going.  M'Cabe  is  fifteen  years  older  than 
I  am,  and  I  hope  that  when  I  am  his  age  I  shall 
have  more  consideration  than  he  for  those  who 
are  younger  than  myself. 

It  was  now  nearly  half- past  five  o'clock,  and 
by  the  time  we  had  covered  a  mile  of  puddles 
and  broken  stones  it  was  too  dark  to  see  which 
was  which.  I  felt  considerable  dubiety  about 
catching  the  train  at  Coppeen  Road,  all  the  more 
that  it  was  a  flag  station,  demanding  an  extra  five 
minutes  in  hand.  Probably  the  engine-driver 
had  long  since  abandoned  any  expectation  of 
passengers  at  Coppeen  Road,  and,  if  he  even 
noticed  the  signal,  would  treat  it  as  a  practical 
joke.  It  was  after  another  quarter  of  an  hour's 
trudge  that  a  distant  sound  entered  into  the 
silence  that  had  fallen  upon  M'Cabe  and  me,  an 
intermittent  grating  of  wheels  upon  patches  of 
broken  stone,  a  steady  hammer  of  hoofs. 

M'Cabe  halted. 

**  That  car's  bound  to  be  going  to  Owenford," 
he  said  ;  "•  I  wonder  could  they  give  us  a  lift." 

A  single  light  (the  economical  habit  of  the  South 
of  Ireland)  began  to  split  the  foggy  darkness. 

301 


In  Mr.  Knox's  Country 

**  Begad,  that's  like  the  go  of  Reardon's  mare ! " 
said  M'Cabe,  as  the  light  swung  down  upon  us. 

We  held  the  road  like  highwaymen,  we  called 
upon  the  unseen  driver  to  stop,  and  he  answered 
to  the  name  of  Jerry.  This  is  not  a  proof  of 
identity  in  a  province  where  every  third  man  is 
dignified  by  the  name  of  Jeremiah,  but  as  the  car 
pulled  up  it  was  Reardon's  yellow  mare  on  which 
the  lamplight  fell,  and  we  knew  that  the  fates  had 
relented. 

We  should  certainly  not  catch  the  train  at 
Coppeen  Road,  Jerry  assured  us;  "she  had," 
he  said,  **  a  fashion  of  running  early  on  Monday 
nights,  and  in  any  case  if  you'd  want  to  catch 
that  thrain,  you  should  make  like  an  amber-bush 
for  her." 

We  agreed  that  it  was  too  late  for  the  pre- 
paration of  an  ambush. 

**  If  the  Sergeant  had  no  objections,"  continued 
Jerry,  progressing  smoothly  towards  the  tip  that 
would  finally  be  his,  **  it  would  be  no  trouble  at 
all  to  oblige  the  gentlemen.  Sure  it's  the  big  car 
I  have,  and  it's  often  I  took  six,  yes,  and  seven 
on  it,  going  to  the  races." 

I  was  now  aware  of  two  helmeted  presences 
on  the  car,  and  a  decorous  voice  said  that  the 
gentlemen  were  welcome  to  a  side  of  the  car  if 
they  liked. 

302 


The  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

"Is  that  Sergeant  Leonard?"  asked  M'Cabe, 
who  knew  every  policeman  in  the  country. 
**Well,  Sergeant,  youVe  a  knack  of  being  on 
the  spot  when  you're  wanted !  " 

**  And  sometimes  when  he's  not !  "  said  I. 

There  was  a  third  and  unhelmeted  presence  on 
the  car,  and  something  of  stillness  and  aloofness 
in  it  had  led  me  to  diagnose  a  prisoner. 

The  suggested  dispositions  were  accomplished. 
The  two  policemen  and  the  prisoner  wedged 
themselves  on  one  side  of  the  car,  M*Cabe  and 
I  mounted  the  other,  and  put  the  dog  on  the 
cushion  of  the  well  behind  us  (his  late  quarters 
in  the  dog-box  being  occupied  by  half  a  mountain 
sheep,  destined  for  the  hotel  larder).  The 
yellow  mare  went  gallantly  up  to  her  collar, 
regardless  of  her  augmented  load ;  M'Cabe  and 
the  Sergeant  leaned  to  each  other  across  the 
back  of  the  car,  and  fell  into  profound  and  low- 
toned  converse  ;  I  smoked,  and  the  dog,  propping 
his  wet  back  against  mine,  made  friends  with  the 
prisoner.  It  may  be  the  Irish  blood  in  me  that 
is  responsible  for  the  illicit  sympathy  with  a 
prisoner  that  sometimes  incommodes  me ;  I  cer- 
tainly bestowed  some  of  it  upon  the  captive, 
sandwiched  between  two  stalwarts  of  the  R.I.C., 
and  learning  that  the  strong  arm  of  the  Law  was 
a  trifle  compared  with  the  rest  of  its  person. 

303 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

"  What  sport  had  you,  Major  ?  "  enquired  Jerry, 
as  we  slackened  speed  at  a  hill. 

I  was  sitting  at  the  top  of  the  car,  under  his 
elbow,  and  he  probably  thought  that  I  was  feeling 
neglected  during  the  heart-to-heart  confidences 
of  M'Cabe  and  the  Sergeant 

*'  Not  a  feather,"  I  replied. 

"  Sure  the  birds  couldn't  be  in  it  this  weather," 
said  Jerry  considerately ;  he  had  in  his  time 
condoled  with  many  sportsmen.  **  I'm  after  talk- 
ing to  a  man  in  Coppeen  Road  station,  that  was 
carrying  the  game  bag  for  them  gentlemen  that 
has  Mr.  Purcell's  shooting  on  Shinroe  Mountain, 
and  what  had  the  four  o'  them  after  the  day — 
only  one  jack-snipe !  " 

**  They  went  one  better  than  we  did,"  I  said, 
but,  as  was  intended,  I  felt  cheered — "  what  day 
were  they  there  ?  " 

**  To-day,  sure ! "  answered  Jerry,  with  faint 
surprise,  **  and  they  hadn't  their  luncheon  hardly 
ate  when  they  met  one  on  the  mountain  that  told 
them  he  seen  two  fellas  walking  it,  with  guns 
and  a  dog,  no  more  than  an  hour  before  them. 
*  That'll  do ! '  says  they,  and  they  turned  about 
and  back  with  them  to  Coppeen  Road  to  tell  the 
police." 

"  Did  they  see  the  fellows  ?  "  I  asked  lightly, 
after  a  panic-stricken  pause. 

304 


The  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

"They  did  not.  Sure  they  said  if  they  seen 
them,  they'd  shoot  them  like  rooks,"  replied  Jerry, 
**and  they  would  too.  It's  what  the  man  was 
saying  if  they  cot  them  lads  to-day  they'd  have 
left  them  in  the  way  they'd  be  given  up  by  both 
doctor  and  priest !    Oh,  they're  fierce  altogether !  " 

I  received  this  information  in  a  silence  that 
was  filled  to  bursting  with  the  desire  to  strangle 
M'Cabe. 

Jerry  leaned  over  my  shoulder,  and  lowered  his 
voice. 

**  They  were  saying  in  Coppeen  Road  that 
there  was  a  gentleman  that  came  on  a  mothor- 
bike  this  morning  early,  and  he  had  Shinroe 
shot  out  by  ten  o'clock,  and  on  with  him  then  up 
the  country ;  and  it  isn't  the  first  time  he  was  in 
it.  It's  a  pity  those  gentlemen  couldn't  ketch 
kifn  I     Theyd  mothor-bike  him ! " 

It  was  apparent  that  the  poaching  of  the  motor- 
bicycle  upon  the  legitimate  preserves  of  carmen 
was  responsible  for  this  remarkable  sympathy  with 
the  law ;  I,  at  all  events,  had  it  to  my  credit  that 
I  had  not  gone  poaching  on  a  motor-bicycle. 

Just  here  M'Cabe  emerged  from  the  heart-to- 
heart,  and  nudged  me  in  the  ribs  with  a  confede- 
rate elbow.  I  did  not  respond,  being  in  no  mood 
for  confederacy,  certainly  not  with  M'Cabe. 

**  The  Sergeant  is  after  telling  me  this  prisoner 
305  U 


In  Mr,  Knox's  Country 

he  has  here  is  prosecuted  at  the  instance  of  that 
Syndicate  I  was  telling  you  about,"  he  whispered 
hoarsely  in  my  ear,  "  for  hunting  Shinroe  with 
greyhounds.  He  was  cited  to  appear  last  week, 
and  he  didn't  turn  up ;  he'll  be  before  you  to- 
morrow. I  hope  the  Bench  will  have  a  fellow- 
feeling  for  a  fellow-creature ! " 

The  whisper  ended  in  the  wheezy  cough  that 
was  Mr.  M'Cabe's  equivalent  for  a  laugh.  It  was 
very  close  to  my  ear,  and  it  had  somewhere  in 
it  the  metallic  click  that  I  had  noticed  before. 

I  grunted  forbiddingly,  and  turned  my  back 
upon  M'Cabe,  as  far  as  it  is  possible  to  do  so  on 
an  outside  car,  and  we  hammered  on  through  the 
darkness.  Once  the  solitary  lamp  illumined  the 
prolonged  countenance  of  a  donkey,  and  once  or 
twice  we  came  upon  a  party  of  sheep  lying  on 
the  road;  they  melted  into  the  night  at  the 
minatory  whistle  that  is  dedicated  to  sheep,  and 
on  each  of  these  occasions  the  dentist's  dog  was 
shaken  by  strong  shudders,  and  made  a  con- 
vulsive attempt  to  spring  from  the  car  in  pursuit. 
We  were  making  good  travelling  on  a  long 
down-grade,  a  smell  of  sea-weed  was  in  the  mist, 
and  a  salt  taste  was  on  my  lips.  It  was  very 
cold ;  I  had  no  overcoat,  my  boots  had  plumbed 
the  depths  of  many  bogholes,  and  I  found  my- 
self shivering  like  the  dog. 

306 


The  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

It  was  at  this  point  that  I  felt  M'Cabe  fumbling 
at  his  game-bag,  that  lay  between  us  on  the  seat. 
By  dint  of  a  sympathy  that  I  would  have  died 
rather  than  betray,  I  divined  that  he  was  going  to 
tap  that  fount  of  contraband  fire  that  he  owed  to 
the  dentist's  dog.  It  was,  apparently,  a  matter 
of  some  difficulty ;  I  felt  him  groping  and  tug- 
ging at  the  straps. 

I  said  to  myself,  waveringly :  "  Old  black- 
guard !     I  won't  touch  it  if  he  offers  it  to  me." 

M'Cabe  went  on  fumbling : 

"  Damn  these  woolly  gloves !  I  can't  do  a 
hand's  turn  with  them." 

In  the  dark  I  could  not  see  what  followed,  but 
I  felt  him  raise  his  arm.  There  was  a  jerk,  fol- 
lowed by  a  howl. 

"Hold  on!"  roared  M'Cabe,  with  a  new  and 
strange  utterance,  "  Thtop  the  horth !  I've 
dropped  me  teeth ! " 

The  driver  did  his  best,  but  with  the  push  of 
the  hill  behind  her  the  mare  took  some  stopping. 

**Oh,  murder!  oh,  murder!"  wailed  M'Cabe, 
lisping  thickly,  "  I  pulled  them  out  o'  me  head 
with  the  glove,  trying  to  get  it  off!  "  He  scrambled 
off  the  car.  "  Give  me  the  lamp !  Me  lovely  new 
teeth " 

I  detached  the  lamp  from  its  socket  with  all 
speed,   and  handed  it  to   M'Cabe,  who  hurried 

307 


In  Mr,   Knox*s  Country 

back  on  our  tracks.  From  motives  of  delicacy  I 
remained  on  the  car,  as  did  also  the  rest  of  the 
party.  A  minute  or  two  passed  in  awed  silence, 
while  the  patch  of  light  went  to  and  fro  on 
the  dark  road.  It  seemed  an  intrusion  to  offer 
assistance,  and  an  uncertainty  as  to  whether  to 
allude  to  the  loss  as  *'  them,"  or  "  it,"  made  en- 
quiries a  difficulty. 

**For  goodneth'ake  have  none  o'  ye  any 
matcheth,  that  ye  couldn't  come  and  help  me  ? " 
demanded  the  voice  of  M'Cabe,  in  indignation 
blurred  pathetically  by  his  gosling-like  lisp. 

I  went  to  his  assistance,  and  refrained  with 
an  effort  from  suggesting  the  employment  of 
that  all-accomplished  setter,  the  dentist's  dog,  in 
the  search ;  it  was  not  the  moment  for  pleasantry. 
Not  yet. 

We  crept  along,  bent  double,  like  gorillas ;  the 
long  strips  of  broken  stones  yielded  nothing,  the 
long  puddles  between  them  were  examined  in  vain. 

**  What  the  dooth  will  I  do  to-morrow  ?  "  raged 
M'Cabe,  pawing  in  the  heather  at  the  road's  edge. 
"How  can  I  plead  when  I  haven't  a  blathted 
tooth  in  me  head  ?  " 

"I'll  give  you  half  a  crown  this  minute, 
M'Cabe,"  said  I  brutally,  "if  you'll  say 
*  Sessions ' ! " 

Here  the  Sergeant  joined  us,  striking  matches 
308 


The  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

as  he  came.  He  worked  his  way  into  the  sphere 
of  the  car-lamp,  he  was  most  painstaking  and 
sympathetic,  and  his  oblique  allusions  to  the 
object  of  the  search  were  a  miracle  of  tact. 

**  I  see  something  white  beyond  you,  Mr. 
M'Cabe,'"  he  said  respectfully,  *'  might  that  be 
them?" 

M'Cabe  swung  the  lamp  as  indicated. 

*'  No,  it  might  not.  It's  a  pebble,"  he  replied, 
with  pardonable  irascibility. 

Silence  followed,  and  we  worked  our  way  up 
the  hill. 

"What's  that,  sir?"  ventured  the  Sergeant, 
with  some  excitement,  stopping  again  and  point- 
ing.    "  I  think  I  see  the  gleam  of  the  gold  !  " 

**Ah,  nonthenth,  man!  They're  vulcanite!" 
snapped  M*Cabe,  more  irascibly  than  ever. 

The  word  nonsense  was  a  disastrous  effort, 
and  I  withdrew  into  the  darkness  to  enjoy  it. 

'*  What  colour  might  vulcanite  be,  sir  ?  "  mur- 
mured a  voice  beside  me. 

Jerry  had  joined  the  search-party  ;  he  lighted, 
as  he  spoke,  an  inch  of  candle.  On  hearing  my 
explanation  he  remarked  that  it  was  a  bad  chance, 
and  at  the  same  instant  the  inch  of  candle  slipped 
from  his  fingers  and  fell  into  a  puddle. 

"  Divil  mend  ye  for  a  candle  I  Have  y^  a 
match,  sir  ?     I  haven't  a  one  left !  " 

309 


In  Mr,   Knox's  Country 

As  it  happened,  I  had  no  matches,  my  only 
means  of  making  a  light  being  a  patent  tinder- 
box. 

"  Have  you  a  match  there  ? "  I  called  out  to 
the  invisible  occupants  of  the  car,  which  was 
about  fifteen  or  twenty  yards  away,  advancing 
towards  it  as  I  spoke.  The  constable  politely 
jumped  off  and  came  to  meet  me. 

As  he  was  in  the  act  of  handing  me  his  match- 
box, the  car  drove  away  down  the  hill. 

I  state  the  fact  with  the  bald  simplicity  that 
is  appropriate  to  great  disaster.  To  be  exact, 
the  yellow  mare  sprang  from  inaction  into  a 
gallop,  as  if  she  had  been  stung  by  a  wasp,  and 
had  a  start  of  at  least  fifty  yards  before  either 
the  carman  or  the  constable  could  get  under 
weigh.  The  carman,  uttering  shrill  and  menac- 
ing whistles,  led  the  chase,  the  constable,  though 
badly  hampered  by  his  greatcoat,  was  a  good 
second,  and  the  Sergeant,  making  the  best  of 
a  bad  start,  followed  them  into  the  night. 

The  yellow  mare's  head  was  for  home,  and 
her  load  was  on  its  own  legs  on  the  road  behind 
her;  hysterical  yelps  from  the  dentist's  dog  in- 
dicated that  he  also  was  on  his  own  legs,  and 
was,  in  all  human  probability,  jumping  at  the 
mare's  nose.  As  the  rapturous  beat  of  her  hoofs 
died   away  on  the   down-grade,    I    recalled   the 

310 


The  Shooting  of  Shinroe 

assertion  that  she  had  pulled  the  lungs  out  of 
two  men,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  prisoner 
had  caught  the  psychological  moment  on  the  hop. 

*' They'll  not  ketch  him,"  said  M'Cabe,  with 
the  flat  calm  of  a  broken  man,  **  not  to-night 
anyway.  Nor  for  a  week  maybe.  He'll  take 
to  the  mountains." 

The  silence  of  the  hills  closed  in  upon  us,  and 
we  were  left  in  our  original  position,  plus  the 
lamp  of  the  car,  and  minus  our  guns,  the  dentist's 
dog,  and  M'Cabe's  teeth. 

Far,  far  away,  from  the  direction  of  Coppeen 
Road,  that  sinister  outpost,  where  evil  rumours 
were  launched,  and  the  night  trains  were  waylaid 
by  the  amber-bushes,  a  steady  tapping  sound 
advanced  towards  us.  Over  the  crest  of  the  hill, 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  a  blazing  and  many- 
pointed  star  sprang  into  being,  and  bore  down 
upon  us.  "A  motor-bike!"  ejaculated  M'Cabe. 
**Take  the  light  and  thtop  him — he  wouldn't 
know  what  I  wath  thaying — if  he  ran  over  them 
they're  done  for!  For  the  love  o'  Merthy  tell 
him  to  keep  the  left  thide  of  the  road !  " 

I  took  the  lamp,  and  ran  towards  the  bicyclist, 
waving  it  as  I  ran.  The  star,  now  a  moon  of 
acetylene  ferocity,  slackened  speed,  and  a  voice 
behind  it  said  : 

**  What's  up?" 

311 


In  Mr.  Knox*s  Country 

I  stated  the  case  with  telegraphic  brevity,  and 
the  motor-bicycle  slid  slowly  past  me.  Its  rider 
had  a  gun  slung  across  his  back,  my  lamp  re- 
vealed a  crammed  game-bag  on  the  carrier  behind 
him. 

"  Sorry  I  can't  assist  you,"  he  called  back  to 
me,  keeping  carefully  at  the  left-hand  side  of 
the  road,  "but  I  have  an  appointment."  Then, 
as  an  afterthought,  "There's  a  first-rate  dentist 
in  Owenford ! " 

The  red  eye  of  the  tail  light  glowed  a  farewell 
and  passed  on,  like  all  the  rest,  into  the  night. 

I  rejoined  M'Cabe. 

He  clutched  my  arm,  and  shook  it. 

**  That  wath  Jefferth !  Jefferth,  I  tell  ye !  The 
dirty  poacher  I     And  hith  bag  full  of  our  birdth ! " 

It  was  not  till  the  lamp  went  out,  which  it  did 
some  ten  minutes  afterwards,  that  I  drew  M  'Cabe 
from  the  scene  of  his  loss,  gently,  as  one  deals 
with  the  bereaved,  and  faced  with  him  the  six- 
mile  walk  to  Owenford. 


PRINTHO  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN  BY  BALLANTYNR,   HANSON  Sn*  CO.  LTB, 
BDINBURCH   AND  LONDON 


.d--:t:v 


